


Picking Up

by T Fowler (serafina20)



Series: Unbroken Path [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serafina20/pseuds/T%20Fowler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam takes off after John's death.  Dean and Rachel go after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picking Up

"So you haven't heard from him at all?" Rachel said, heart sinking.

 

"No," Sarah answered, sounding apologetic. "I'm really sorry. You said he's been gone for a week?"

 

She sighed and pushed her bangs off her forehead. Pressing the heel of her hand against her head didn't make the headache go away, but it gave her the illusion of doing something for it. "Yeah. Just took off." She sighed again. "Okay, so, if he calls you, please tell him to call us. And then you call me and tell me what number he called you from, okay?"

 

"Yeah, no problem. I will call you."

 

"Even if he tells you not to."

 

"Even if he tells me not to. Believe me, I deal with a lot of people in mourning," Sarah said. "And Sam shouldn't be alone right now, no matter what he thinks."

 

"No. He shouldn't." She wiped her nose with her ever present tissue, said good-bye, and hung up.

 

One week. One whole week since Sam had taken off. Eleven days since John's death. Eleven days that she'd been in pain from a headache. Eleven days since she and Dean had first started sharing a bed.

 

Eleven days since Rachel had realized that she and Dean could never consummate their relationship with one another. Eleven days that she'd been trying to figure out how to let him know.

 

After Sam had disappeared, Dean had suggested they go to Bobby's. More accurately, he'd wanted to go where his car was and get started fixing it.

 

"I'm no good with all the technical stuff," he'd said. "I can call everyone I know, but if they don't know where Sam is, I'm just a clueless. You can do all that computer stuff, right?"

 

"Right," she'd said.

 

Lied, sort of. There was a lot of computer stuff she could do. Find a person who didn't want to be found wasn't one of them. Luckily, her brother, Nathan, knew how to do all that. And Rachel used her resources wisely. While she kept tabs on Sam's credit cards, called anyone whom she thought he might turn to, and called every phone he had (a total of four) leaving message after message, Nathan was hacking into the cell phone providers networks. If he managed to do that, and Sam had a phone on, Nathan would be able to use their information to pinpoint Sam's location within ten miles.

 

Just, so far, he hadn't succeeded.

 

Rachel rubbed her temples before picking up her phone once more.

 

"Hello, you've reached Missouri, psychic extraordinaire."

 

"Hi, Missouri."

 

"Baby girl! You find Sam yet?"

 

"No," Rachel said, groan in her voice. "I was hoping you'd've heard from him by now. I really thought he might go to you."

 

"I'm sorry, but no. He might be feeling a sense of misplaced guilt over what happened last time I tried to help."

 

She frowned. "But that wasn't his fault."

 

"No, but he's a pigheaded Winchester. And Sam takes the weight of everything on him. Why not a little car crash?"

 

"Right." Rachel licked her lips. "I'm glad you're better. All right and everything."

 

"Me too." Missouri was silent a beat before asking, "What about you? How you doing?"

 

"Fine. Not great, but okay."

 

"And your man?"

 

She pressed her fingers into her eyes. "About the same. Only angry." She licked her lips. "I think whatever John said to him before he died got to Dean. Even though Dean claims John didn't say anything, I know he must have."

 

"What you think he said?"

 

"I don't know." Although she suspected it had something to do with whatever John had known about Sam. "But he wanted to be alone with Dean. There must have been a reason. And whatever that reason is, it's eating Dean up."

 

"Then make him tell you. Sharing a burden is a lot easier than bearing it alone," Missouri said, probably very sensibly.

 

"Have you met Dean? He's not exactly the sharing kind. And I can't exactly strong arm him."

 

"I don't know about that. He loves you, which gives you a pretty powerful bargaining chip," she replied with a heavy hit of suggestion in her tone.

 

Rachel blushed so hot her head spun. "Um, right." She picked up her water glass and took a sip. "Anyway, I should go. I've got more calls."

 

"And a boyfriend to crack."

 

"Right. I'm glad you're better, Missouri."

 

"So am I, girl. So am I."

 

Rachel hung up and set the phone down. She wanted to call her father, but she'd just talked to him that morning. He'd promised he'd call the moment he knew anything, either about Sam or the mess of papers she'd faxed to him about the demon. John had left so much research behind, and she was trying to make sense of it all. Two heads were better than one, so she'd shuffled some of the burden onto her dad.

 

Well. Many heads, so she'd sent it to her dad, her mother, her grandfather, and brother. And that had been a pain. Bobby wasn't exactly living in the center of it all, so she'd had to drive almost two hours to the nearest copy store and back again.

 

While in town, she'd bought every form of birth control they had. Just in case. Not that she and Dean were going to sleep together. They couldn't. She couldn't risk it. And, soon, she'd tell him that. Once they had Sam back. Rachel would explain to him that they couldn't risk ever being intimate, and she had new plans never, ever to have sex and he was free to go on his way and be happy.

 

And she was going to do it all without crying. Really.

 

She sighed, which she was doing a lot lately, and rose. She needed a break anyway.

 

Dean was where he'd been for the past week: underneath his car. Not that she minded. First off, it was getting them transportation he could live with. Second, it gave him something to do until they got a lead on Sam. And, maybe it would help him work through some of his grief. John gave him the car, after all. Putting it back together might help.

 

Rachel got down in the dirt next to Dean and stuck her head under the car. "Hey."

 

"Hey," Dean replied, not moving his eyes from whatever he was fixing.

 

She chewed on her lower lip, then said, "Can I help with anything?"

 

It got the twisted smile she'd intended. "Yeah. Can you get the left handed spanner out of the tool box for me?"

 

"I'll get right on that."

 

"What time is it?"

 

Rachel tried to check her watch, and ended up smacking her wrist on the underside of the car. "Ouch." She slid out and looked. "Almost two."

 

Dean crawled from underneath and set the wrench down. "When did we eat lunch?" he asked. He took her hand and kissed her wrist where a bruise was already forming.

 

"I ate lunch around noon. You let the flies eat your lunch about the same time." She pointed at the plate of stale, fly covered grilled cheese.

 

"Huh." He rubbed his hair. "Get anything?"

 

Rachel shook her head. "No, not yet. I called everyone on that list you gave me. No one's heard from Sam in weeks. I just don't understand where he thinks he's going, you know? If he's serious about this telekinesis thing, why isn't he going to Missouri or my grandfather?"

 

Dean scratched his neck. "I don't know. Maybe he's not really trying that. Maybe he's, I don't know. Running away from everything."

 

"Do you really think that's something he'd do?"

 

"Did it before."

 

"It was different before," Rachel said. "Before... he was tired. Hunting was the only life he knew, and it was... confining."

 

Dean looked at her askance. "Confining? We were on the road. Adventure and excitement. Life and death."

 

"Yeah. And he'd been there done that since he was a kid. It was a rebellion."

 

"Can't even rebel right."

 

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You rebel against the establishment, and your father and your life was the establishment. Sam wanted to try something different." She took his hand. "The difference, Dean? Was that then, it was safe to rebel. Yeah, you guys were facing life and death, but you'd never lost. Now you have." She shrugged. "Sam wouldn't have left unless he had a damn good reason."

 

"What if he didn't?" Dean asked, looking off into the distance. "I mean, what if we find him, and he's squirreled himself away some apartment somewhere with a nine to five job, ready to start up his normal life again?"

 

"Well," Rachel said, resting her head against Dean's arm, "then we take turns holding him down, okay?"

 

Dean smiled. "Promise?"

 

"Would I lie?"

 

"Totally." He turned his head and kissed her.

 

She was so incredibly weak. One brush of his lips, and she melted. Pushed up to deepen it. Allowed herself to be pulled onto Dean's lap.

 

He ran both hands through her hair, pushing it back from her face. His lips were chapped, but his tongue was soft and warm. Gentle against hers. He leaned back against his car, pulling her with him.

 

She should stop this. She knew that. Couldn't let him get too close. Couldn't get too attached. Couldn't let him think...

 

He slipped his hand underneath her shirt. Slid it up her spine. Back down. Fingers underneath the band of her jeans. Under the elastic on her panties. Over the soft skin at the top of the crease to her buttocks. Back up again to her neck where he held her mouth to his. Probed deep inside until she felt as if he intended to swallow her.

 

She'd never been kissed like this. Never had a reaction to a kiss like this before, one that made her ache. She squirmed on his lap, trying to relieve some of that ache.

 

Dean ground up against her in response. Pressed into where she ached most. Promise, asked...

 

Warned.

 

Fuck.

 

Rachel pulled her mouth away to tell Dean they had to stop. However, the abrupt movement made her headache flare behind her eyes. "Oh, shit," she groaned. She pressed her hands into her temples.

 

"You still have a headache?" Dean said. He squeezed her neck with one hand.

 

Rachel sighed and let her head fall back. Wow. That felt good.

 

"Yeah. But I'm fine." She dropped her hands and blinked. "I'm fine."

 

"But you still have a headache."

 

"Yeah."

 

Dean stroked her cheek. "You've had a headache for over a week. Maybe it's time to go back to the doctor."

 

"I'm fine, Dean, really. It's just stress. Things are stressful right now."

 

"That's true." He kissed her neck. "How about this? We go back inside. I'll make something to eat. You take a bath." He kissed the other side of her neck. "When you get out, I can give you massage. Get some of the tension out for you." He kissed under her jaw. Her chin. Her mouth.

 

Rachel tried not to melt. Failed. Her spine suddenly seemed to be made out of spaghetti, and her head fell onto his shoulder.

 

"What do you think?" Dean whispered. One strong hand massaged the knots in her shoulder; the other caressed her back underneath her shirt.

 

It sounded so good. Laying on the bed with Dean straddling her body. His hands on her naked skin, rubbing her sore muscles. Caressing her. Stroking her until she was nothing more than a mass of goo.

 

But a massage would lead to more. And more was exactly what she was trying to avoid.

 

"I think I'm okay," she said. Of course, she sounded completely unconvincing what with the moan in the back of her throat and the way she had her body draped over Dean's.

 

"Liar." Dean gently bit her earlobe. Tugged on it with his teeth. "Come on, babe. You need to relax." His fingers slipped down the front of her jeans and stroked just underneath the elastic of her panties.

 

She whimpered. Embarrassingly.

 

And then, her phone rang.

 

Thank God.

 

"Hello?" she answered breathlessly.

 

"Hey sis. It's me."

 

"Nathan." She sat up, pulling her head away from Dean's shoulder. "Hi."

 

Nathan didn't say anything for a minute. Then, "Did I interrupt something interesting? You sound out of breath."

 

Rachel's cheeks flamed. "I was running," she said sharply. "What do you have?"

 

"Oh, someone's bitchy. Must have broken into something good."

 

"What. Do. You. Have?"

 

Nathan laughed. "Sam just used a credit card at a motel in West Virginia. He also used one of those cell phones."

 

"Did you get a location from it?"

 

Another pause. "No," Nathan said slowly. "Because I already have a location from the credit card."

 

"Sam's in West Virginia," Rachel said. "Where in West Virginia?"

 

"Charleston."

 

"Thanks, Nathan. I really appreciate it." She was about to hang up, when he called her name. "What?"

 

"Just so you know, he accessed the voice mail on that cell phone he used. Does your boyfriend know the password?"

 

"Which one?"

 

He gave her the number.

 

"No, I don't. That's one of Dad's phones," Dean said after Rachel had relayed the information.

 

"He doesn't."

 

"No problem. I'll keep working on it. I'll give you a call when I get anything."

 

"Thank you, Nathan."

 

"No problem. And remember, Rachel: condoms are your friends."

 

Blushing again, Rachel flipped the phone shut. "So."

 

"So," Dean repeated. "I guess we're going to Charleston. Unless you think we should try calling."

 

She shook her head. "He might bolt if he thinks we know where he is. I say we ambush him."

 

Dean's mouth was set in a thin, hard line, face blank. "All right." He put his hands on Rachel's hips and lifted her as he rose. "Let's ambush."

 

* * *

 

Sam sat in the middle of the hotel bed. His palms were flat against the comforter, and maybe it was because of that he couldn't get his mind to focus. All he could think of was some news report he'd seen about how motel comforters were dirty and germ ridden and bedbugs were now on the rise and he was probably going to catch something and die a horrible death. Or, worse, he had his hand right over some long dried semen stain.

 

Okay then.

 

He got off the bed, stripped the comforter off, and tossed it on the floor. Then he sat back down. Took a deep, slow breath. Concentrated on the glass on the front of him and tried to move it.

 

Bedbugs live in the sheets.

 

No. Concentrate.

 

He wondered if Dean was okay.

 

The cup, Sam.

 

It was just, Dean didn't handle things like grief real well. And he'd been so close to Dad. And, over the past year, Sam had really come to appreciate how hard Dean worked to keep their family together. And now Dad was gone and Sam was gone...

 

He couldn't think about that now.

 

Tightening his jaw, Sam looked at the cup again. His brow furrowed. He pressed his lips together. Tried to recall how he'd done it the last time, bring back the feelings, the power. Anything.

 

He pushed again.

 

Nothing.

 

He sighed heavily and flopped back onto the pillows. God, this sucked. He just wanted to go home. Fight with Dean and help him fix the car. Or watch him fix the car, whatever. And he and Rachel could work on his father's research on the demon.

 

Sam leaned over the edge of the bed to pick up his backpack. Just as he'd been obsessively trying to move things with his mind--and feeling like a moron every time he tried--he'd spent the past week trying to make heads or tails of the papers his dad had left behind. He'd swiped a stack when he'd taken off, and he was pretty sure he'd gotten it all. If he had, then all that was left was figuring out how to use it all. If he hadn't...

 

Well, let's just say, if he hadn't, he wasn't looking forward to facing Rachel when they reunited. Research-girl would be pissed if he took half of what she needed.

 

He leafed through the papers not really seeing them. He'd already been through them a million times. Omens and a bunch of numbers. That's all it was. Topped all off with Dad's illegible writing, and it was giving him as much a headache as trying to make his brain move.

 

Huh. Maybe it wasn't his brain that was supposed to move things. Maybe he only thought it was because that's where he felt the visions, but maybe the telekinesis came from somewhere else.

 

Sam licked his bottom lip and looked at the cell phones he had lined up on the nightstand. He should, he knew, call someone. Missouri or Rachel's grandfather. Anyone who knew something about this whole mental supernatural power crap.

 

But if he called, Dean and Rachel could find him. And that would put them right where he didn't want them: in danger. Anyone he went to would be in danger.

 

Maybe. _If_ his dream had been a vision. If the demon had really been talking to him. If...

 

It hadn't felt like one. Now that he'd calmed down enough, he realized that it wasn't a vision, it wasn't the demon. It was just a nightmare. He'd had enough that he should recognize them, but he'd panicked.

 

Everything was changing. Dad was dead. Dean was wearing a wedding ring and sleeping in a room apart from him. With his wife. Or girlfriend. Or... Rachel. Sam wasn't even sure what they were anymore. It'd started as a practical joke that had been DOA, turned into a panicked decision when Dean had been bleeding and wouldn't stop. It'd come in handy when all three of them had been unable to take care of themselves and then...

 

Well, Sam didn't quite know what happened then. He just knew that they'd gotten something to eat one night before Dad's funeral, and some guy had made some lewd comment within Dean's hearing.

 

Dean had calmly walked up to the man, told him to shut the fuck up about his wife, and clocked the guy one. And Sam distinctly remembered hearing Rachel refer to Dean as her husband outside the hospital.

 

For a couple that had such a hard time talking to each other about their feelings, they didn't seem to have a problem settling into something that had taken Sam and Jess almost two years to get to.

 

And that was probably the crux of the problem. The ready intimacy between Rachel and Dean. Well, not ready. Tension filled, passionate, conflict-ridden intimacy. Sometimes, they reminded Sam of a couple who'd been together for years, except his only reference for that was TV and TV was hardly the place to turn to for instruction.

 

But. There was something there, and Sam was jealous. He was jealous that Dean had someone to turn to now that Dad was dead. That there was the woman he loved in his bed that he could hold on to, and Sam had... Sam had nothing. Sam had the faint beginnings of something that might possibly happen in New York. Sam had a dead girlfriend and a flirtation with a possessed girl and dirty dreams about the woman he thought of his little sister. And, yeah, if he hadn't left, Rachel would have been there for him too, but that wasn't the point. He didn't love her, she didn't love him, and Sam was now a fifth wheel.

 

A dangerous fifth wheel.

 

But that's not why he'd left. Not at all. Because he loved them both. They were family, and right now, they all needed each other.

 

But, more than that, Sam needed to not be dangerous to them. He couldn't risk their lives.

 

He tightened his jaw and set Dad's papers down. Then, he turned back to the glass.

 

He would do this. He would.

 

* * *

"Hey. Rach, wake up."

 

There was a sharp poking in her side. Rachel opened her eyes and blinked.

 

"We here?" she asked when she realized the car had stopped. Her face was pressed against the glass, the lock digging uncomfortably in her cheek. When she lifted her head, she could feel the indent in her face where it had been.

 

"No, weren't not there yet. We're stopping to get some sleep." Dean looked at her, then away. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "So. You know the kind of places Sam and I usually stay in. You're less likely to get caught with a fake credit card if you don't go all extravagant. But, uh, I was thinking that maybe you might be more comfortable someplace a little nicer. Um. You know."

 

One that she'd have to pay for, in other words. Not that she minded. She had more than money than she needed thanks to her family, and she didn't mind spending it on things they needed.

 

"Well, I would like to sleep on sheets with a thread count high enough that I can't count them. Besides, maybe the room will come with a free continental breakfast, and is there anything better than free coffee and croissants?"

 

He cracked a smile at that. "No, I guess not."

 

The light turned green. Dean continued down the road.

 

Rachel propped her feet on the dashboard. Somewhere in the last six hours, Dean had stopped complaining about having to drive a minivan. She had no doubt he'd started up again in the morning. She'd tried to offer to drive, but he had turned her down, not willing to be subjected to whatever music she would want to listen to. Rachel just rolled her eyes at him and turned his complaining out; if he wanted to be miserable, let him.

 

"Dean," she asked after a few minutes had passed. "Is this money thing going to be a problem? I mean, with us? Because I really don't want it to be."

 

He frowned, kept his eyes on the road. "I just. It's like I'm damned if I do or don't, you know? I hate making you pay for everything, but I'd hate for you not to be comfortable. And I hate that I can't make you comfortable. Give you what you're used to."

 

"We all bring our strengths to the table. You and Sammy have the hunting skills. Sam has that earnest puppy dog thing he does that gets people to trust him. You can make fake IDs. I have money and research. I mean, so does Sam, with the research and stuff, but I've got years of backlog and generational family stuff. We work together as a team." She licked her lips. "Unless you'd rather I don't. That I don't pay or I go home or something."

 

Dean glanced at her. "You saying you want to leave?"

 

She shook her head.

 

"I just feel like maybe I should be taking care of you."

 

"Why, because I'm so weak and helpless?"

 

"No, because you're my." He hesitated, and Rachel's heart lurched. She didn't think he'd say it, but then he finished with, "Wife."

 

It felt like she couldn't breathe, but she managed to force out, "Then make sure I don't get chomped on by a boogied-boo and cut out the sexist money crap."

 

Dean grinned one of his patented thousand watt charmer grins. It was the first time she'd seen it since before he'd slipped back into his coma. "Yes ma'am."

 

They found a motel that wasn't too shabby and checked in. Dean, as usual, took the first shower, leaving Rachel in the bedroom with the computer. She checked her e-mail, hoping Sam had written her. Of course he hadn't. Frustrated, she fired off another e-mail to him, one that was angrier than the last (she was tired of using kid gloves).

 

"Rachel."

 

She looked up from her computer. "Dean?"

 

No answer. Then, from the hallway, "Rachel."

 

Rachel closed the computer and slid off the bed. "Hello?" she called. She unchained the door and opened it.

 

No one was there.

 

This was weird. Something was wrong.

 

She reached into her back pocket and pulled the crucifix she carried around. Held it in her fist and stepped into the hall.

 

The world went dark around her.

 

"Shit."

 

"Ah, little girl, no need to be like that," a familiar voice drawled.

 

She blinked. "John?"

 

He stepped out of the darkness, carrying his own light with him. "Close," he said.

 

"Oh God." Rachel stepped back.

 

"I told you before, princess. God isn't here." The demon move swiftly. She didn't see him move and, suddenly, she was pinned against the wall. "Miss me, darlin'?"

 

"Leave me alone."

 

His breath was hot on her cheek. He smelled like sulfur. He had his hands underneath her shirt, against bare skin.

 

"You know I can't do that. You and me, we had a deal."

 

"No, we didn't. It was you and John. You and John had a deal, but it wasn't for me." She was crying, couldn't help it. "He wouldn't let you. He said no."

 

Lips pressed into hers. "But you said yes. And I'm here to collect." His hands slipped lower, mouth found hers and...

 

"No!" Rachel screamed. Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright.

 

"What? What is it?" Dean was out of bed, holding his gun and his knife out in front of him. "Rachel?"

 

Nightmare. Maybe.

 

She rubbed her face, already wet with tears. "I'm okay." It hurt to breathe. There was a lump in her throat and chest was tight.

 

Dean put his weapons down and climbed onto the bed. "Are you sure okay?" He put his arms around her.

 

"I think so." She turned into his embrace. Her face ended in the crook of his neck, and beneath the soap, she could smell his skin and his warmth. The tight knot in her stomach eased. "God. I can't even tell anymore. Can't tell if it's a nightmare or me astral projecting or just the demon fucking with my head. I have no clue." She sniffed. "I don't even remember falling asleep."

 

"When I came out, you were passed out. That was... four hours ago. You've been sleeping fine."

 

"What, you've been watching me?"

 

He kissed her hair. "Naw. You sleep fine, I sleep fine. You have nightmares or toss and turn, I can't sleep either."

 

"If I'm keeping you up, we can sleep in separate beds."

 

"Rach, you're the only thing that's getting me to sleep."

 

"Oh."

 

His arms tightened around her and he kissed her on the head again. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Maybe I should be telling you it's time for you to go home, get back to your life. Apply for your master's program, go to England, whatever. But the truth is. The truth is, right now, I sorta want you here. With me."

 

Rachel tilted her head back. "I love you, too," she said. She kissed him, and it was a long time before they came apart.

 

He rested his forehead against hers. "I know this isn't the life you wanted."

 

"I never thought about the alternatives to what I expected," she replied. "I always knew it'd have something to do with the supernatural. And, in my family, that means study. I never knew about... all this. It was never personal before." She licked her lips. Pressed them against Dean's again. "I don't think that life in England studying and chasing ghosts is possible for me now. I can't ignore what's out there. What's here." She wiped a tears from her cheeks. "It's too important."

 

Dean lay back, pulling Rachel with him. "Do you think you could be happy? Always on the move, always in danger, always lying about who you are and what you do?"

 

"Well, if I'm not, it's not like I can't still help you from a home base. And it's not like we still couldn't be together."

 

He rolled onto his side. His hand slid over her stomach and around her back. "You'd trust me? Out on the road for weeks on end, only phone calls, e-mails between us?"

 

"Yes, I trust you," she said, smiling.

 

"I love women. Love flirting."

 

"Yes, and you're also one hundred percent devoted to your family." She propped herself on one elbow. Traced the planes and contours of his face. "If I'm family, then you're devoted to me, too." He was so beautiful. Perfect eyes. Not just the color, but the shape and his eyelashes. And he just lay there, next to her, and let her explore, let her trace his face and memorize it.

 

Finally, he caught her hand and kissed it. "You won't have to worry."

 

"Yeah, Dean. I know."

 

* * *

 

Women were weird. No. Scratch that. _Rachel_ was weird. Women were easy. He'd lived with women. Well, sorta. Done the whole morning thing with Cassie several times. She had it down pat. Twenty minute shower, twenty minutes on her hair, a little longer on make-up. Clothes were carefully considered before being pulled on and, bam! There she was, beautiful and perfect, the whole package Dean had gone to bed with the night before.

 

Rachel? Rachel was like living with... Sam. It took her ten minutes to drag herself out of bed. If you talked to her before she showered, all you got was a glare. Inevitably, there were lines all over her face from pressing against the sheets all night. She took a fifteen minute shower and came out with wet hair. She didn't even blow-dry it, just combed out the tangles and let it hang. And make-up? Not so much. Sometimes, but only if she'd had coffee first *and* they were going somewhere others might see her. So, every day at the hospital, but only once at Bobby's. At the hotel?

 

Dean was waiting to see.

 

She'd just finished showering and had come out of the bathroom in her jeans and bra. Dean had been watching a movie on free HBO, but this was much more interesting. Her bra was blue and her breasts sort of swelled over the cups in a way that piqued Dean's interest, which almost felt... weird. Since Dad died, he hadn't really been interested in anything sexual. Kissing her didn't count. That was comfort and distraction and... just nice. But sex? He was just glad that she wasn't pushing.

 

Of course, this was the first time they'd really been alone since Dad died.

 

Rachel's bag was at the foot of the bed. She unzipped it and dug through her clothes. Her boobs bounced as she did.

 

Dean slid on his stomach to the end of the bed. "Hey," he said.

 

She looked up. "Hey," Rachel replied slowly, clearly confused since they'd already done morning greetings.

 

He pulled his upper body off the bed, towards her. Kissed her.

 

Rachel made a sort of surprised sound in her throat, but kissed him back. When he put hooked his finger under her bra strap and tugged, she even crawled closer, onto her duffle bag, and put her arms around him.

 

"Up here," he whispered into her mouth. He put his hands around her waist and hauled her onto the bed.

 

She hesitated, pulling back against his hands. He was about to ask what was wrong when she relented and allowed herself to be pulled to him. As soon as her knees hit the mattress, Dean rolled her onto her back. Pinned her to the bed.

 

Her mouth was warm. Minty. Her skin had this kind of sweet, clean smell, which made sense since she'd just gotten out of the shower. Her hair smelled like the same shampoo that Mandy King had used back at Plains Burrow High School in Wisconsin. She'd driven Dean up the wall sophomore year, showing up to school every day with that smell.

 

It drove him crazy now. When he kissed her neck, the smell surrounded him. Seeped into him.

 

Dean slipped his hand underneath Rachel's back. Unhooked her bra.

 

"Dean," Rachel gasped, tearing her mouth from his. She was panting, hands moving restlessly over Dean's back, nails catching on his tee shirt. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it up towards his head.

 

He whispered something back--he didn't know what. Nonsense, really. Just words. Slipped her bra straps down her arms. Raised his body just enough so he wasn't pressed against her and pulled her bra off.

 

Her breasts were gorgeous. Small enough to fit in his hands, big enough to be interesting.

 

"Jesus Christ," Rachel whimpered when Dean took one of her nipples in his mouth. Then, when he flicked his tongue over it, "Oh God. Jesus. Oh..."

 

"Didn't know you were religious."

 

She smacked him on the head. "Shut _up_." Then, when Dean sucked on her nipple again, her fingers tightened in his hair. "Dean. Oh, God. I ... Dean!"

 

He slid his hand down her stomach. Undid the button to her jeans.

 

"Dean," she said breathlessly in his ear. "I don't know if this is such a good idea." She hooked her leg around his.

 

"Name one good reason." He pushed her jeans over her hips. Kissed down from her breasts, over her stomach. "Just tell me, and I'll stop." He would. Really.

 

"Oh, God," she said. Sobbed, more like. But she just pushed his head down, urging him over the soft swell of her belly. Down the sensitive skin under her navel. Over the elastic of her panties, kissing down the fabric until he could press his face against her mound and...

 

Her phone rang.

 

"Ignore it," Dean groaned. His hooked his fingers under the elastic.

 

"What about Sam?"

 

Ah, fuck.

 

He raised his face. "Rachel," he said, ready to forget Sammy and Dad and everything for just fifteen Goddamn minutes--maybe more... probably less--when Rachel pushed him off and launched herself at the phone.

 

"Hello?" She sounded completely out of breath and totally aroused. Looked it too, face all pink and dewy, pupils dilated, skin flushed. "Hey, Nathan. What.... He what? But you said he was in Charleston." She frowned. "Ohio. He's coming back west?" Her face twisted. She rubbed it and sighed. "Yeah, okay. Anything on the voice mail?" She shook her head. "Well, keep working on it, okay? Thanks. I appreciate it." She closed the phone.

 

"Sam's in Ohio?" Dean said. He sat up, crossed his legs.

 

Rachel nodded. Felt around for her bra and pulled it on. "Nathan said that he used a credit card in Chillicothe, Ohio about an hour ago. When he called the motel that Sam was at, they said he left this morning about six."

 

Dean checked the time; it was nearly ten. They'd gotten a late start after getting in late the night before. "What the hell is he doing?"

 

Rachel shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he doesn't know. He's just... going." She reached over the side of the bed; when she sat back up, she had a tee shirt in her hand. "I don't think Sam is thinking rationally, you know? None of us are. Just, like, you know." She put the tee shirt on. When her head reappeared, her eyes were crimson and filled with tears. "This whole thing has us totally fucked up. I don't even..." Her lower lip trembled. "Dean, I need to tell you something."

 

No way. No way was he going to sit and talk about their feelings or whatever. Or, worse, have her tell him that she was leaving. Nuh-uh.

 

He got off the bed. "Look, Sam's got a head start on us. We should leave now. Get a move on catching up with him. We'll get breakfast on the way."

 

"Dean..."

 

He grabbed his bag, zipped it up. Turned the television off. "We ain't got all day." He grabbed the keys and slipped them in his pocket. "I'll go check out. Meet me in the lobby." Then, before she could say anything else, he left.

 

Bad enough walking around feeling like there was a hole inside him. Now he had to walk around with a half-hard on, too.

 

God. His life fucking sucked.

 

* * *

 

Sam sighed and took another drink of his coffee. He had no idea what he was doing. Yesterday, everything in him was telling him to head East. East, towards, Sarah, towards the ocean, towards Rachel's family. No particular reason or thought, he was just compelled to go.

 

Then, this morning, it was all go back. West. North. Wherever. But go back.

 

And now, he was sitting. In a diner in Hamilton, Ohio. No clue of where he was going or what he was doing. He was just moving.

 

He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. One of his dad's, but he didn't even care anymore. When he did call someone--which was rare--he just used whichever he grabbed first.

 

He flipped the phone open and dialed into the voice mail. When it asked him for the code, he tried 1246. The number meant nothing to him, but it was scribbled all over Dad's journal.

 

To his surprise, it worked.

 

The first message was from Rachel. "Hey, Sam. It's me. Call me. I'm not kidding. Call."

 

Second message. "Dude. It's me again. Call. Me."

 

Third message. "I'm going to let Dean kill you."

 

Fourth. "Screw that. I'm going to kill you. Fucking call me already."

 

He erased them all, then went into his dad's saved messages.

 

"John, it's Jim. Give me a call when you get this message."

 

"Hi, John. It's Bobby. Stumbled across some information I thought you'd appreciate. Give me a call."

 

"John, it's Ellen -- again. Look, don't be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me."

 

Sam blinked. Played the message again. And then again.

 

"Huh." When the voice mail gave the number, Sam wrote it down and shut the phone down. Then he pulled out his computer and logged on. When the wireless popped up, he ran a search on the number and came up with an address in Wisconsin.

 

Okay, then. He had a location.

 

* * *

 

"I don't understand how your brother thinks we can track Sam through his cell phone," Dean said. He was frowning, hands clenched tight on the steering wheel. His eyebrows were drawn together, eyes focused on the road. "I mean, I get checking his calls or whatever, but track him?"

 

Rachel had her laptop open, feet pressed against the dashboard to steady it. "The connection sucks. I think we're going to have pull over somewhere so we can do this."

 

"Will you please just explain it to me?"

 

"Only if you pull into the next town so I can see if it works."

 

"Only if you explain it to me."

 

She looked at him.

 

He glanced back.

 

"Only if you pull into the next town."

 

"Only if..."

 

"Dean!"

 

He flinched. Gritted his teeth. Said, "Only if you explain how it works."

 

"Jesus Christ," she swore. "When my mother told me that the man you marry is inevitably the most stubborn man in the world? She knew what she was talking about." Rachel pointed. "Look. Turn off there. They probably got some cafe or something with wireless."

 

Dean licked his bottom lip. "Only if you explain how it works."

 

She smacked him on the shoulder. "Okay, a cell phone is operational if it's near a cell tower that the provider utilizes. So, the phone companies can track your locations using the cell tower. Three, to be more accurate, to triangulate the location. The towers measure the signal strength, approximate a location."

 

He turned off at the exit. "What do you mean approximate? How approximate is it?"

 

"Pretty close. I think it's actually within a few yards. Maybe a few miles, but still. It's a good start."

 

"And your brother figured out how to do this?"

 

"Well, he hacked into the network provider database. Gave me the codes. All I have to do is log in and the providers do all the work."

 

Dean glanced at her. "How does he know how to do this?"

 

"He was a comparative religion, computer science double major." She rolled her eyes and added, "He saw an episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ where a demon was released online, got all jazzed by the idea. Decided to pursue it as his line of study."

 

"What'd your parents think of that?"

 

"They weren't thrilled, but they didn't stop him. As long as he was fighting the good fight, you know?"

 

He nodded. "I like your parents."

 

"Ah, thanks," she said, batting her eyelashes at him. "My mom felt the love when she met you, you know?"

 

"Bite me."

 

"You into that sort of thing?"

 

"Hell yes."

 

Rachel smiled wryly. "Oh! Stop! I've got a signal."

 

He obliged.

 

Her fingers flew over the keyboard. Quickly, she pulled up the provider's website and hacked in. The directions Nathan had given her were lying next to her; she followed them and....

 

"He's in Chicago."

 

"Chicago?"

 

"Yeah. He's still moving, though."

 

"Well. Let's keep following him, then." He pulled off the side of the road and continued down the road.

 

Rachel closed the computer and stretched. "You know, any time you want to take a break..."

 

"I'll be sure to let you know."

 

 _Two Hours Later_

 

"Where is he now?"

 

"How the hell did you do this?"

 

"Dean, just follow the directions on the paper."

 

Keys clicked.

 

"It says I'm denied. It doesn't work."

 

"You must have typed the password wrong. Just... no, go back. I... no, just... Go back! Okay, good. Right here, type this in. Just like it's written. Got it?"

 

"Got it. Uh, he's in Lincoln."

 

"Lincoln?"

 

"Nebraska."

 

"Okay."

 

"Why's he in Nebraska? We were just _there_ for fuck’s sake! He drove, what, three hundred miles east only to turn around and head back the way he came? What the hell is he doing?"

 

She sighed.

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"You've got that look on your face."

 

"What look?"

 

"The 'Dean, you're a stupid idiot, stop asking questions' look. I hate that look."

 

She sighed again.

 

"Stop it!"

 

"Sorry. I'm tired."

 

"So stop."

 

"And have you get pissy with me?"

 

"I don't get pissy."

 

Snort.

 

"Look, you wanted to drive. I let you drive. You got that responsibility, so you've got the power to pull over and stop any time you want."

 

The car pulled over, heading for the exit.

 

"Wait, now?"

 

"I hate you."

 

"You don't have to stop now."

 

"We need gas. I need food and a bathroom break. My back hurts. I want to walk around. I know we'll fall behind, but that's the nature of the chase."

 

"Wait another half an hour."

 

"Oh, look at that. We're off the highway."

 

"You suck."

 

She just smiled.

 

* * *

 

Rachel stretched when she got out of the car, standing on her toes, her entire body reaching for the sky. Dean watched her, forcing himself to be dispassionate. Not to notice the way the lighter parts of her hair caught in the light, or how her shirt rode up. Not to smile at the way she stumbled just a little bit as she came back down, clumsy even while standing still. Not to react, to just... shut off.

 

"I need to walk," Rachel said when she was done stretching. "Want to come with me?"

 

"What, like just walk around?" He shook his head. "Not my thing."

 

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. Um, you want to meet in an hour?"

 

"In the restaurant across the street."

 

"All right." Rachel bit her bottom lip and looked at Dean for a moment.

 

He knew what she wanted. Or what she'd come to expect. But he couldn't, so he was about to just turn around and walk away when she moved. He managed to turn his head just in time so her kiss landed on his cheek rather than his mouth.

 

"Later," she said.

 

"Bye."

 

He watched her walk away, trying not to admire the way her jeans hugged her ass or the way her arms swung confidently at her sides. After being trapped in a car with her all day practicing not noticing her, you'd think it'd be easier. But standing and moving made it a whole other story.

 

"Fuck," he swore. He turned and walked in the opposite direction, not caring where he went. Just needing to get away.

 

He never should have done it. What had happened that morning shouldn't have. He'd decided that over a week ago: no sex. She obviously wasn't ready, and his sex drive was on the fritz anyway, so it'd seemed like an easy decision. Plus, with Sam gone, they both had other worries to focus on, taking the microscope off their relationship.

 

Truth was, he didn't know what was going on with Rachel. Before Dean had slipped back into a coma, their sex life had seemed pretty well mapped out. As soon as Dean got better, Rachel would drag him to the nearest bed, which they wouldn't leave for a few weeks. She'd given every indication she wanted it, and Dean hadn't had any objections. He'd wanted her since she'd walked out of the shower wearing just a towel back when they'd first met. And he'd wanted her more--like, more than just her body, more than just a few nights--when she'd been with that fox fairy. And when it'd turned out she was his supposed wife?

 

That had been it for him. He'd made the decision that no other woman would ever be in his bed.

 

And she'd seemed to have the same thing in mind. But now? Rachel would kiss him, but almost never initiated it. And she pulled away all the time. There was just something... formal about the way she talked to him, now. Like she was trying to end it, but didn't know how.

 

No, that wasn't even it. Because he knew she still loved him. Was still in love with him.

 

She just was avoiding sex.

 

Dean sighed and sat down on a bench in front of some antique store.

 

He'd had a lot of time to think over the past week. To mull over everything. His miraculous recovery and Dad's sudden death. The Colt's disappearance and Rachel's nightmares. Even though he wasn't the brain trust that Rachel and Sam were, he wasn't stupid. He knew something bad had happened. He knew...

 

Truth was, he didn't blame Rachel for not wanting to sleep with him. He barely wanted to be in his own skin. He was tainted now. Living one someone else's time. It made him feel... dirty.

 

Rachel deserved better. He knew it, she knew it. They just weren't sure where to go from there.

 

He wondered what Dad had been thinking. When he'd done whatever it was he done. Made the trade. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Deals with demons never turned out well. Dad had taught him that.

 

So why had he done it?

 

"I want you to watch out for Sammy," he'd said. Said it right before...

 

No.

 

Watch out for Sammy. What a bang up job he was doing. Seven days, and the best Dean could do was figure out that he was in Wisconsin. Great job watching out for his special little brother.

 

Dean pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Dialed.

 

"Hey, Dean."

 

He blinked, shocked. "Sammy?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Dude, where are you?"

 

"I'm safe." He sounded exhausted. "Look, I know you and Rach are worried, but don't be. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

 

No, Sammy, you really can't, Dean thought. Not with what's coming.

 

What he said was, "Taking off the way you did was not cool. I've already had that happen to me once. I didn't like it then, and I'm pissed as hell about it now."

 

"At least I left you with someone."

 

"Not the point. We're family, Sam. We stick together. You don't just take off on your own."

 

"I had to, Dean," Sam said. "I can't be the one who gets you killed. I can't."

 

"You won't."

 

"You don't know that."

 

"Sam..."

 

"The demon..."

 

"Are you having dreams or visions, Sam?" Dean asked bluntly.

 

Sam hesitated before answering, "Dreams."

 

He snorted. "Nightmares. Just like Rachel. Just like me. After everything the past few months, it makes sense, okay? We're all messed up. We should be messed up together."

 

Another pause. "How's the car?"

 

"Can't work on it since I'm too busy chasing you."

 

"Then stop..."

 

"Not going to happen, Sam."

 

"Well, I'm not going to tell you where I am."

 

He gritted his teeth. "Then me and Rachel will have to hunt you down."

 

"So we're at an impasse."

 

"What can I say? I'm a stubborn man."

 

"Yeah," Sam said. "Yeah, you are."

 

* * *

 

"He's here?" Dean said doubtfully as he cut the engine on the Impala.

 

Rachel ran her hand through her hair. "Yeah." She felt just as doubtful as Dean sounded.

 

He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face her. "You're telling me that dies, Sam freaks out that he's going to kill the two of us, books it to Ohio, turns back around to Nebraska all to go to a fucking carnival?"

 

"Looks that way."

 

"Unless you're wrong."

 

She leaned her head back against the seat and smiled at him. "Well. I often am."

 

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "Say it ain't so." He leaned forward. Brushed his lips lightly across hers, then stiffened and yanked back. "Uh, so..."

 

Rachel cleared her throat. Looked out the window and tried to push down the feeling of disappointment that welled in her. Because there was no reason to be disappointed. If Dean wanted to pull back, that was great. Really.

 

"So." She licked her lips. "Why do you think he's here?"

 

Dean shrugged. "Maybe he wanted some cotton candy."

 

She snorted. Then there was a flash in her brain. "Hey, do you think he's here because of those murders?"

 

"What murders?"

 

Right, he hadn't read the paper that morning.

 

Rachel reached behind her, to the backseat where she'd tossed that morning's paper. "There's this article in here about a few murders. One happened just a few days ago. Parents killed, ripped apart to tiny shreds. Their kids say a clown did it."

 

"A clown."

 

She held the paper out. "That's what it says."

 

Dean's eyes scanned the article. The skin between his eyes wrinkled in a frown. "This definitely sounds like something we'd hunt. But there's two problems with this."

 

"What?"

 

"One? Sam wouldn't go hunting on his own. Not now at any rate. Maybe he'd go after the demon, but anything else? Not really."

 

"Okay, and two?"

 

He grinned. "Sammy's afraid of clowns."

 

Rachel laughed. "No."

 

"Cries like a little baby at the sight of them."

 

She smacked his arm. "Anyway, afraid of clowns or not, he's here. For the first time, we're in the same place at the same time. You wanna go find him, or you want to sit in the car and look at each other?"

 

He reached out and combed his fingers through her hair. There was a sad, wistful expression on his face. It made Rachel's stomach twist and body to go hot.

 

"We better go," he said, fingers still in her hair.

 

"Yeah." She pulled his hand and held it. "Let's go."

 

And still they didn't move. Just sat there, holding hands, looking at each other.

 

Dean looked about as sad as she felt.

 

"Okay," he said after she didn't know how much time had past. "Let's go." He leaned over her and grabbed something from the glove compartment. Then he left the car.

 

Rachel reached into the back again, this time for her backpack. She transferred her EMF, notebook, camera, and bottle of holy water into her purse. Then, she opened the door and climbed out.

 

"You planning on hunting?"

 

"Dude, I just saw you grab your home made EMF reader."

 

He smiled. Smugly proud of that stupid thing, still. "Yeah, but, it's what I do."

 

"As long as I'm with you, me to." She slipped her arm through his and tug. "Now let's go win me a teddy bear."

 

They walked in silence for awhile. The carnival was crowded, full of families carting around candy-sticky kids and hormonal teenagers out to find a dark nook to neck. The ragged workers with the glazed look of indifference on their faces and secret smiles they threw each other, speaking of inside jokes and lives separate from the mundanes that surrounded them.

 

Both Dean and Rachel kept vigilant, looking for Sam. Or, at least, Rachel tried to look for Sam. But she was tired and everyone sort of faded into one monstrous, many-headed person. And her mind wandered. It didn't help that she and Dean were still walking close together, and that their hands were brushing, and that he smelled really good this morning.

 

She had to distract herself.

 

"I don't get clowns," she finally said.

 

"What?"

 

"Clowns," she repeated. "I don't get them. Modern clowns, I mean. Circus clowns. Like, historical clowns? The Fools and jesters? Those I get. They were political. They had a philosophy. They were the oracles of their age. I mean, they held up a mirror to the oppression that was going on, and even though, yeah, they didn't always affect much change, they still ... you know. *Did* stuff." Rachel ran her hands through her hair. She felt warm. "What do modern clowns do? I mean, they're not funny, they're not clever. They rely on big floppy shoes and little flowers that squirt water. Comedians are our modern day Fools. Clowns? They're kind of stupid. Even the ones that mime... what?"

 

Dean had stopped. Was giving her a look.

 

"What?" she asked again.

 

He looked at her for another moment, then shook his head. "You're a freak. Braintrust." He stepped forward and tapped her on the forehead. "Too much information percolating around in there without any place to go, so we get rants about clowns."

 

She blushed and shrugged. "Yeah, well. I guess that's why you love..." Crap.

 

Dean looked like he was thinking the same thing. He started to step back, then shook his head abruptly.

 

Rachel was about to turn away when Dean stepped into her personal space. Took her by the arms, hard. Yanked her up. Kissed her.

 

She melted. Completely and utterly. Turned into a Rachel puddle, grateful for the hands on her arms, the body she could leaned against. Raised her arms to grab him. Got one hand clutching his shirt, the other behind his head, holding him to her. Kissing him back. Sucking on his tongue and, Jesus fucking Christ, Dean was *so good* at this.

 

She forgot to breathe. The carnival and dust and smells of junk faded away, replaced with soap and skin.

 

And the way he was kissing her.... After nearly two days of stand-offish behavior, this sudden... *heat*. Intensity. Made her head spin.

 

"It's not about that," he said, tearing his mouth away. Dean's hands moved from her arms to her back, holding her against him. "That's not why."

 

Rachel nodded. Kissed him again. "I know." Her heart pounded in her ears. Her breath came very fast.

 

"I'm just... with everything right now, I'm just..."

 

"I understand."

 

"I mean, I can," he hastened to assure her.

 

Her cheeks heated. Rachel nodded. "I know."

 

Dean brushed hair from her face. He looked pained as he gazed at her. Like looking at something he'd always wanted, but couldn't have.

 

Or maybe that's just the way she was feeling.

 

"Maybe... maybe we should split up for awhile? Look for Sam."

 

"Oh."

 

"Just, maybe then you could focus. Instead of, you know. Ranting about the uselessness of clowns in today's society."

 

She laughed and blushed. "It's not that I think they're useless. I just think it's sad that this great, noble, art with a long tradition has given way to..."

 

He kissed her. "Seriously. Shut up, freak."

 

"Sorry."

 

Dean kissed her forehead, then pushed her away. "Okay. I'll take the north side, you go south. We meet back here in an hour. Call if you find him."

 

Rachel nodded. "Sounds good. Watch out for killer clowns." She turned, started walking away, and immediately tripped over a rock.

 

"Watch out for the ground, brainiac."

 

"Bite me."

 

She heard him mumble something, but was too far away to make it out. It had to be either something along the lines of, "promise?" or "never in this lifetime."

 

Probably not the latter. Not after that kiss. Although, with the way things were going between them, it never would be in this lifetime.

 

Maybe the next would be safer for them.

 

She continued to wander the carnival. Without the distraction of Dean, it was easier to keep focused on the people around her. Still, it was like trying to find a Sam-shaped needle in a stack of... vaguely Sam-shaped needles. The only real thing she had going for her was the fact he was so freakishly tall.

 

Which, it turned out, actually helped. That and the fact he was standing on the stairs to the funhouse when she caught sight of him.

 

Her heart lurched. "Sam!" she called, but was drowned out by the loud ringing of a nearby bell. Throwing a disgusted look at the game, Rachel jogged through the crowd to the funhouse.

 

By the time she reached it, Sam had disappeared inside. Definitely hunting. Or looking for a cheap thrill.

 

It was dark inside. Neon lights glowed along the floor, over "fun" mirrors. Things jumped out and mist sprayed and, God, she objected to circus clowns but she *hated* funhouses.

 

"Sam?" she called, voice shaky.

 

"Sam, Sam," someone mocked from next to her.

 

Something tugged her braid. She whirled, only to see two teenage boys running away, laughing.

 

"Jerks," she muttered. "I can kick your ass," she added. Because it was true. Maybe.

 

She continued through the mirror maze. It was absurdly simple to navigate, but, then, it was just a funhouse. She'd always wanted to be in a *real* mirror maze, one not designed to get people through quickly to go spend their money outside. Or a real maze. Like Hampton Court's hedge maze. She'd always planned to go there right after graduation and just lose herself in there for hours.

 

But, plans change. The Winchesters had needed her and she wouldn't be anywhere else.

 

She left the maze. Passed a beautiful calliope that seemed innocuously placed in the middle of a plywood funhouse, but whatever.

 

"Sam?" she called again. She moved across the room, from the calliope to what looked like an alien display on the other side of the wall. It was something in a jar, floating. Reminded her of the cow fetus from "Firefly", when she realized it wasn't even close to that. Just a baby doll with three heads.

 

Rachel snorted. Stepped around the corner.

 

Shrieked as something fell from the ceiling in front of her face.

 

"Jesus!" the figure in the corner swore. It jumped and turned. "Rachel?"

 

Heart pounding, she tore her eyes from the skeleton dangling from the ceiling to Sam. "Sam!"

 

The skeleton was actually heavy as she pushed it aside--it couldn't be real, could it?--and rushed to him. "We've been so worried!" she said, throwing her arms around him.

 

Sam stumbled back against the force of her weight. His arms came around her and he hugged her tightly, pulling her halfway off the floor. "What are you doing here?"

 

"Looking for you, moron." She clutched at his jacket for a moment. Then she pulled away and socked him in the arm.

 

"Ouch! Hey, that hurt," he said, rubbing it.

 

"You're such a jerk!" she said. She punched him again.

 

"Hey!"

 

"What the hell were you thinking?"

 

"I was thinking I had to protect my brother and his wife from getting killed!" he shot back, shielding his arm from her.

 

"I'm not his wife!" Rachel snapped without thinking. "And we never wanted you to leave. Not to try and protect us."

 

Sam grabbed her left hand. "What's this?"

 

"This," she said, yanking it away again, "it's nothing." She could feel the tears pushing behind her eyes. Her hands shook as she fought to get the ring off. "It's nothing, okay? It was just a... a thing to help you and Dean out. That's all, okay?" She finally got it off and just held it in her fist. A tear slipped from the corner of her eyes and down her nose. "But this isn't about... You shouldn't have left."

 

"What's wrong?" Sam asked. He put his hands on her shoulders. Looked down into her face. "Rachel, what happened?"

 

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's nothing, okay?"

 

"It's not nothing." He slipped his finger underneath her chin and forced her to look up. "You and Dean were in a good place when I left. You were sharing a bed. You seemed really comfortable."

 

Rachel shrugged. "Things change. Anyway. We're here. We came to get you." She slipped the ring into her pocket and grabbed him by the sleeve. "Come. Dean and I have been trailing you for days."

 

"How did you find me?" he asked, allowing himself to be pulled from the funhouse.

 

"Like I'm going to tell you. Can't risk you running off again and this time knowing how we can keep track of where you are." She wiped another tear away. "Why are you here, anyway?"

 

"I got into Dad's voicemail. There was a message from this woman, Ellen, saying she could help. I went to check it out."

 

She raised her eyebrow at him. "And decided to stop at the carnival why?"

 

He ducked his head, blushing. "To, uh. Tohuntaclown," he mumbled.

 

Rachel rolled her eyes and pulled her phone from her pocket. Thumbing it open, she dialed Dean.

 

"Found him?" Dean answered.

 

"Yeah. And he's hunting clowns."

 

Dean snorted. "Where are you?"

 

"By the Ferris wheel."

 

"I'll be right there."

 

She hung up. "He's on his way."

 

They waited in uneasy silence. Rachel didn't want to talk. It felt like she had a hole in her chest. Her hand felt naked. She felt naked. And Sam?

 

Sam was just looking at her. Through her. Like if he watched her long enough, she'd break. Or, worse, he'd see right through her and find it all out.

 

Rachel looked away. Crossed her arms and hugged her body.

 

"Hey." Dean came up behind her. Put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, but she could feel his entire attention was on Sam.

 

Sam flushed and ducked his head. He looked guilty. "I'm sorry."

 

"Yeah, well. That don't mean a whole lot."

 

"I was trying to make sure you didn't get hurt."

 

"So you said."

 

"Dean..."

 

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

 

"I'm hunting."

 

Rachel felt Dean stiffen. His hand tightened on her shoulder.

 

Even though it was broad daylight, and it was Dean, and they were outside and it was nothing like... like _then_ , Rachel's stomach suddenly twisted in panic. Dean was behind her, and she couldn't see him, but he was holding her and...

 

She yanked away from him, panting. Moved so she could see him, cold sweat gathering at her temples, slicking her palms.

 

Dean gave her a glance and a frown. A question.

 

Rachel just shook her head and tried to get control. And here she had been so proud that she'd gotten through something akin to sexual assault without it affecting her life.

 

"You're hunting," Dean said, attention focused again on Sam. "That's interesting." So much anger in his voice.

 

Sam flinched from it. "Look. I found this message on Dad's phone. His voicemail. This woman, Ellen, had called and said she could help. I found out where she was, and went there. Ellen runs a bar called the Roadhouse. Hunters, like us, go there. Like a meeting place. Apparently there's this whole world and we didn't know about it."

 

Rachel glanced at Dean to see how he took this revelation.

 

His face was still blank. Stone. "Really."

 

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Anyway, I asked her about the message. And there's this guy there, Ash. He took all those papers I had. Dad's research? And he said he'd be able to figure out how we can use it to track the demon's movements. I don't know how, but I gave it to him."

 

"Awful trusting of you."

 

"Seriously, Dean, I don't know what to do anymore. We've got to trust someone, we can't do this on our own. Without Dad, we're floundering."

 

Dean's jaw tightened.

 

"Um," Rachel stepped in. "I have a bunch of your dad's papers. I was studying them the night you took off, so this Ash..."

 

"Yeah, I know," Sam said sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

 

She shrugged.

 

"That still doesn't explain why you're here."

 

"Well, it'll take some time for Ash to put together the data. I was at the bar when I saw the file Ellen had put together on this case. So I decided to check it out, see if I could help."

 

"Doesn't seem like you."

 

"Maybe I've changed."

 

Dean grunted.

 

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

 

Rachel finally broke it. "Look. Why don't you tell me where this bar is? I'll take the rest of the papers over, give it to Ash. You two stay and try and track down the killer clown."

 

Sam flinched at the word clown.

 

She rolled her eyes. "You know, if you're that afraid of clowns..."

 

"Sometimes, we have to face our fear," he said stoically.

 

"I'll take your car," Rachel said. "I just need directions."

 

“It’s three hours away on a hard burn.”

 

“Ash won’t find anything without all your dad’s papers.”

 

Dean took her by the arm and dragged her away from Sam. "You running?" he asked, sotto voce.

 

Rachel shook her head. "No. I just thought, well. You and Sam haven't had any time alone since your dad died. And I'm no good on a hunt, you know that. I can keep an eye on this Ash guy. Check out Ellen. Make sure we can trust them." She put he hand on Dean's cheek. "Talk to Sam. Or beat the crap out of him, I don't care. Just work this out and make sure he doesn't leave again."

 

"You're an amazing girl," he said. He brushed a stray hair from her cheek.

 

Rachel blushed and smirked. "Yeah, well. You're not half bad yourself."

 

* * *

 

Stakeouts sucked. Sam had never liked them, sitting in the car, eating crap food, listening to Dean's cassette tapes, making small talk. In this case, very small talk. Minuscule, in fact.

 

Sam watched the house, dark as everyone had gone to bed some time ago. "If we can't see the clown, how are we supposed to stop it?"

 

Dean shrugged. "We'll figure something out. We always do." His fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel.

 

Sam nodded. Settled back.

 

Mere minutes after Rachel had taken off, Sam and Dean had stumbled across a kid enthusiastically pointing a clown out to her parents. The problem was, there was no clown. None that either Winchester or, by the looks on their faces, the parents could see. Figuring they were on the right track, Sam and Dean had tailed the family through the carnival. That had entailed they play a few of the games--Dean'd won a teddy bear at the shooting gallery and Sam got a small stuff snake shooting baskets--but they'd avoided rides. They had managed to talk to a few of the carnies--the blind knife throwing man, a few of the ride operators, and a "fortune teller", but none had really given them any useful information.

 

Then, they'd followed the family home, gotten a quick bite to eat, and camped out on the street.

 

For hours.

 

Sam cleared his throat. "So, uh. What's going on with you and Rachel?"

 

Dean's jaw tightened. "Nothing."

 

"No, there's something going on. When she found me in the fun house, I said something about you two, and she freaked out."

 

"What'd you say?"

 

He shrugged. "I don't know. I think I said something about my brother and his wife or something. Yeah, that was it. I said she was your wife, and she just started crying."

 

Dean was silent. His fingers drummed harder on the wheel, eyes gazed off into the street like he wasn't seeing anything. The street lamp glinted off his wedding ring, still on the ring finger of his left hand.

 

"Something happen?" Sam asked.

 

If it was possible, Dean seemed to stiffen even more. "Nothing that's any of your business."

 

He turned it over in his mind. Felt his face warm. "Did, uh. Something go wrong in the." Oh, God. How the fuck could he even think about asking his brother this?

 

He got an evil look when Dean realized what Sam's driving at. "Don't even go there, Sam."

 

Which means, of course, he's right on target. "You know, the first time sucks. No matter what," he said. "I mean, me and Jess? It took, like, weeks for us to get into a good rhythm. And Jess wasn't a virgin."

 

"Do you want to shut the fuck up, Sam?"

 

He turned in his seat to face his brother. "Look, all I'm saying is that you can't give up on it. And you can't let her give up. It's all new, right? To her and to you. And the circumstances aren't exactly ideal. Maybe just... after we finish this case, you and her can go off together for the weekend or something. Somewhere nice. Somewhere not Bobby's or a cheap motel and just..."

 

"Sam!"

 

Sam flinched.

 

Dean let out a harsh sigh. Rubbed his hands over his face. "Look. Not that it's any of your business, but we haven't slept together yet. And I don't think it's going to happen."

 

"What?" They'd practically been having sex when Dean'd been in a coma. "What do you mean you haven't..."

 

"I mean we haven't had sex. You should be familiar with the concept. You've been doing it almost your whole life."

 

"Yeah, but..." Sam had no idea what to say. They'd been so... intimate when he'd left. He'd assumed... "Why not?"

 

Dean didn't answer, clenching his jaw harder.

 

"Dean, you and Rachel were, like, all systems go back at the hospital."

 

"Things change."

 

"Yeah, but..."

 

"Look. It's been her call all the way, all right? She's the one who doesn't want to sleep with me. And, the truth is, I understand. I get it, so I'm not going to push."

 

Sam thought about it. Frowned. "Why do you think she doesn't want to sleep with you?"

 

Dean blinked and looked away. His fist was clenched and at his mouth.

 

"Dean, what is it?"

 

"I don't want to talk about it."

 

"But..."

 

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam. So shut up about it all ready!" Then, before Sam could gather his wits, he said, "Look. The kid just opened the door. Let's move."

 

* * *

 

Rachel pulled Sam's borrowed car to a stop in front of the dilapidated wooden building in the middle of nowhere. Turning off the engine, she sat for a moment, looking at it.

 

Four hours. Over. She’d hit traffic. Four hours after spending the past two days in a car.

 

Her brain was dead. She couldn’t gather a coherent thought. She just sat there, looking at the ramshackle bar.

 

This was her life now. She needed to get used to it.

 

With one last sigh, she grabbed her bag and exited the car.

 

It was late afternoon. The bar as for business, but wasn't busy. There were maybe three cars in the dusty parking lot, only a few men scattered inside, drinking.

 

Someone whistled as she crossed the bar. She ignored it, but as she passed close by a man nursing a bottle of Jack, he reached out and tugged her braid.

 

She bit back a scream, whirling. Connected with his still outstretched arm, knocking it away as she struck out with her right hand in a punch.

 

He grabbed her arm. Twisted it, turning her and pulling her into his lap. “Don’t worry, baby girl. I ain’t gonna bite.” He pressed his nose into her hair. “How about a drink?”

 

Rachel yanked herself out of his lap. “No.”

 

“Ah, come on.” He reached for her again. “Just one little…”

 

"Chuck!” A beautiful blonde girl around Rachel’s age came up and slammed an empty tray on the man’s table. “You already forget about our say hi with your words talk?” She glared at him.

 

Chuck shook his head. "I ain’t forgot, Jo. Just being friendly.”

 

“Try being less friendly.” She took Rachel by the arm and led her away. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

 

She smiled. “No problem. Just didn’t want you hurting him too bad. He’s like a snake: harmless until you poke him too hard. You looked like you were about to smash his face in.”

 

“Yeah, that might have been my next move. Either that, or falling to the floor face first and breaking my own face. It’s hard to tell.”

 

Jo laughed. “So, sweetheart, what are you doing here?” She leaned against the bar and gave Rachel a slow once over. “No offense, but you kind of look out of place.”

 

She blushed. “No, I know. I’m not…” She licked her lips. “I’m a friend of Sam Winchester. He sent me here to give Ash some papers.”

 

"You're a hunter?"

 

"Not exactly. My family studies supernatural things, but we don't hunt all that much. I've just started going on solo hunts this year. What about you?"

 

Jo shook her head, eyes rolling. "Not so much. Mom keeps me on a tight leash, keeps me here."

 

"Keeps you safe," an older woman said, walking up on the other side of the bar and setting a bottle of beer down.

 

Jo's eyes rolled again. "Yes, Mother." She smirked at Rachel. "Mom, this is a friend of Sam's. Rachel. Rachel, my mom, Ellen."

 

Ellen reached over the bar to shake Rachel's hand. "Friend of Sam's. You know he's not here right now?"

 

"Yeah, I know," Rachel said. "Dean and I tracked him down at the carnival. They're hunting the clown, and Sam sent me over to give Ash some of John's research."

 

"They sent you away to keep you safe?" Jo asked.

 

"No, I came here to give Ash the other half of the research he needs to start tracking the demon that killed John and Mary Winchester. And, I left them because Sam and Dean need to talk. It was win-win.”

 

"Dean's Sam's brother?" Jo said.

 

Rachel nodded. She looked at Ellen. "So this Ash, guy. Where can I find him?"

 

"He's upstairs in his room. I can take you."

 

"No, it's okay, Mom. I've got her." Jo wrapped her hand around Rachel's wrist and tugged. "I'll just take her upstairs."

 

Ellen nodded. "You hungry?"

 

Rachel shrugged. "A little. Mostly I'm tired. Do you know where there's a motel or something around here? And a Laundromat?"

 

"You can stay here," Ellen said. "We've got room. I'll just get something for you to eat and bring it up. Unless you want to eat down here?"

 

She shook her head, glancing at the room rapidly filling with men. "No, thanks. Upstairs is fine."

 

The other woman smiled. "All right. I'll see you in a bit."

 

"Come on." Jo tugged Rachel's arm, led her from the bar.

 

Rachel followed, weariness clinging to every pore. Until she'd come inside, got away from Dean, she hadn't realized how tired she really was. And her headache. It'd faded somewhat the past few days, but now it was coming back. It was like she had to keep moving, keep going towards something to make it go away and right now, she just...

 

Wasn't.

 

"Just so you know? Ash is kind of... unique," Jo said.

 

"How so?"

 

She got a flash of a smile and a brush of blonde hair against her face. "You'll see." Jo stopped in front of a door with the sign 'Dr. Badass is In,' and rapped on it with her knuckles. "Hey, Dr. Badass!"

 

The door opened. A man with a major mullet appeared in the frame. He looked over Rachel. "What can the doctor do for you?" He flipped his hair and preened.

 

Rachel glanced at Jo, who just grinned.

 

"I have stuff for you.” She dug through her backpack and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "It's the rest of John Winchester's research. Sam only gave you half."

 

"Excellent. Thought it seemed a little thin." Ash took it and practically bounced back into the room.

 

Rachel followed. "How are you doing?"

 

"This? It's cake. Program's easy enough to write, just need to set up a search engine that runs automatically, looking for what John already figured out. It's just a matter of inputting the data."

 

"Need any help with that?"

 

Ash shook his head. "Seriously not a problem. I'm cracking the whole pattern thing to it as we speak." He glanced over at her. "Who are you again?"

 

"Rachel Adams."

 

"Dude!" Ash exclaimed. He turned from the computer he'd just sat down at. "Your search program is awesome, dude. I mean, the depth of your research and the findings that thing pulls up? Fantastic."

 

Rachel looked at him, mouth falling open. "How did you... get my program?" she stuttered.

 

"Your brother," Ash said. "He sent it to me after your graduation. Wanted me to work out some of the bugs."

 

"Nathan sent you my search program?" Then, "You know my brother?"

 

"Him and me? Go way back. Met at a concert a few years back, bonded over beer and weed. Man, does your brother gives good head."

 

Rachel shrieked and clapped her hands over her ears. "Don't ever say that again! Gah!" She shuddered. "Oh, God, I need to kill myself." She turned to Jo. "Please, tell me that you can shoot a gun."

 

Jo laughed and pulled Rachel's arms down. "Baby, I'm a sharpshooter."

 

"I worked out some of the bugs in the program, by the way. Runs a lot better."

 

"Great." Rachel pulled her computer from her bag and handed it to him. "Upload it onto my laptop? I seriously need to go kill myself right now."

 

"No problem, gorgeous. Oh, and how's your brother doing?" He waggled his eyebrows.

 

"Ash, enough's enough." Jo tugged Rachel to the door. "Come on. You said you were hungry."

 

Still trying to get the image of Ash and her brother out of her head, Rachel let Jo pull her down the hall to her room. Dinner was macaroni, liberally peppered with Jo's incessant questions about the job and the life and the Winchesters. After, she showered, Jo sitting on the bathtub, still talking, wrapped herself in Jo's terry cloth robe and led back to Jo's bed.

 

The girl never shut up.

 

"I can't believe your family just... researches this," she said after Rachel had climbed into her pajamas (which consisted of Dean's shirt and her blue boxers). "I've never met anyone who just researches, not hunts."

 

"It's a family thing. My grandfather's psychic." Rachel dug into her back and pulled out her comb. "He's a historian, it's always what he did. Studied. And he passed it along in out family."

 

"Sounds so classy. Historian. Nothing like guys here."

 

Rachel shrugged. "Well, it’s not like we never hunt. Every once in a while, my parents will go out and track something down. I only just started; how Dean and I met." She ran the comb through her hair. "What about you?"

 

Jo shook her head. "Mom won't let me, which I think is bullshit. I'm tough, I'm smart, I can shoot, fight. This is the life I want, and she treats me like a baby. If I tried to take off with a couple of guys, she'd freak. How do your parents not?"

 

"I… I don’t know what they would have said if I’d just taken off. They’ve always been supportive, but I guess they are protective. I wasn’t allowed to go after anything myself until this year. Even then, I did it without letting them know.”

 

Her eyes lit up. "What'd you hunt?"

 

"A ghost. It was stuck in a photograph, killing people. In retrospect, it was really easy. It could only get out if it was directly in moonlight, and we did an exorcism on the picture as we burned the ghost's bones. But I almost messed up. Almost got killed right away. If Sam and Dean hadn't shown up..."

 

"That's how you met them?"

 

Rachel nodded. "Yeah. They showed me a world I'd never thought of before. And we sorta joined forces. A little, not much." She rubbed her forehead. "Until now."

 

"What happened? Sam said that John's dead?"

 

"Yeah." Her throat closed up. "I really don't want to talk about it."

 

"Yeah, no problem."

 

The door opened. Ellen stuck her head in. "Honey? It's getting kind of busy downstairs. Mind lending a hand?"

 

Jo sighed. "Yeah, fine, Mom."

 

"Rachel. I've got that room for you."

 

"You can just stay in here, with me," Jo said quickly. "I never get to talk to any girls. It's a heavy testosterone crowd here."

 

"Jo, honey. Downstairs." Ellen looked at Rachel. "Come on."

 

Rachel grabbed her backpack and followed Ellen down the hall. It was really weird how normal this all felt. Like sleeping somewhere new every night, relying on strangers for room, board, and more, wearing someone else's robe and walking barefoot in a home over a bar was something she did every day.

 

As exhausted as she was, it was exciting.

 

"You'll have to forgive Jo," Ellen said, showing Rachel into another room. "We get women 'round here almost never. She hasn't had a friend her age since she quit school. She claims she doesn't mind, but, well. As you see." She turned the light on, revealing a neat room. There was a double bed, dresser, pictures on the walls, curtains on the windows. All very neat, all very cute.

 

"I think she's also excited that I've hunted."

 

"Oh, yeah. As rare as women are here, female hunters are even rarer." Ellen shrugged and sat on the bed. "So. Can I ask you about John?"

 

Rachel sighed and set down her backpack. "What do you want to know?"

 

"What happened?"

 

"He and the boys tracked down a Colt that'd kill anything. Then they went after the thing that killed Mary. A demon. Only everything went wrong and all three were badly hurt." Rachel leaned against the dresser and hugged her body tight. "I'm rich." She swallowed. "Sam arranged it so I could take care of them, if anything happened. John was... possessed? And when the demon left him, it left parts of it in John. And he was in a coma."

 

"He died from that?"

 

Her face crumpled. Tears clogged her eyes, her throat. "I really can't talk about it," she said.

 

"Rachel..."

 

Her phone rang.

 

"Hello?" Rachel said, almost a sob.

 

"What's wrong?" Dean asked.

 

"Nothing." Rachel wiped her eyes, but the tears still came. "Nothing, I'm fine. I'm just tired. What's up?"

 

"Oh, nothing. Me and Sam just fucked up, but you know. Par for the course and all."

 

"What happened?"

 

"I'll tell you later. Right now I need you to tell me what sort of thing masquerades as a clown, visible only to kids, immune to rock salt, and possibly has to be invited into a house."

 

She blinked. Tried to think. "What does it do to the parents again?"

 

"Rips them to shreds. Possibly eats them."

 

"Give me ten minutes. Ash has my computer."

 

"Okay. I'll..."

 

"No, wait!" she exclaimed, lightening bolt through the brain. "It's a Rakshasas."

 

"A what who?"

 

"I totally did a paper on them for my comparative religion class last semester. They're a Hindu demon, made from the Brahma's foot. They eat human flesh and spoiled food. Real nasty bastards."

 

"How do we kill it?"

 

She wracked her brain. "Uh... brass knife. Pure brass."

 

"And how do we find it?"

 

"Well, I think they feed something like every twenty to thirty years. Ten to one, the Rakshasas has been traveling with the circus for some time. So, figure out who was there, check its bed, because it lives in squalor, and then kill it."

 

"Can't you find that stuff out?"

 

"Remember my headache?"

 

Dean clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "Okay, so the plan is: you stop crying, get some sleep. Me and Sam will walk back to the carnival..."

 

"Walk back?"

 

"No big. We just ran into some breaking and entering. And shooting an invisible clown that was holding a kid's hand and... It's no big."

 

Rachel groaned. "Where are you?"

 

"No. You are going to sleep."

 

"No, I am coming to pick the two of you up. Where are you?"

 

Dean sighed. "About seven miles south of the carnival. And you’re three hours away, babe. Sam and I can do seven miles in less time.”

 

“Yeah, but then you’ve gotta go back to the carnival, find the thing, and then get here.”

 

“So, okay, you come out and meet us. But sleep.”

 

“Dean.”

 

“Rachel, this headache thing is going on two weeks. And Sam and I have survived fine all this time without you. Sleep.”

 

She sighed. Rubbed her forehead. “Fine. But I’m meeting you first thing tomorrow morning, got it?”

 

“Yeah. Sounds good.” He was silent. Then, “Sleep well.”

 

The phone went dead.

 

“What was that?”

 

"My boys can't keep themselves out of trouble, apparently.” She rubbed her forehead. "Got any aspirin?"

 

Ellen nodded. "You going after them?”

 

“I’ll catch some sleep first. But I’m going to leave early and get them.” She yawned. “Probably better I sleep. I can’t think.”

 

“Been that tired before. You’re no good to anyone like that. I’ll get that aspirin. You get comfortable.”

 

Rachel crawled into bed, pulling the covers over her. She was out before Ellen came back.

 

* * *

 

A knock at the door drew Dean out of his slumber. He was out of bed with his gun before whoever was there could knock again.

 

Rachel stood on the other side.

 

He sighed. Put the safety back on and placed the gun on the table. “What are you doing here? What time is it?”

 

“Seven. The agency said you need someone first thing?” She blinked up at him. Licked her bottom lip.

 

“I don’t know.” He smiled lazily and leaned against the door “Girl like you might be out of my price range.”

 

Her cheeks turned red. “I think,” she said stepping closer, “we might be able to work something out.” Rachel put her arms around his neck. Stood on her toes and brought her lips to his.

 

“Jesus, you guys, I’m _right here_ ,” Sam groaned.

 

Dean ignored him. He wrapped his arms around Rachel and picked her up. Kissed her.

 

"Is it sad that I missed you?" Rachel whispered when he let her talk again.

 

He ran his thumb over her cheek. "Naw." He kissed her again, walking across the room to his bed. Sank down on it, rolling onto his side. "How's your head?"

 

"Better. I took something, got some sleep. It’s almost at a manageable level."

 

“How’d you know where we were?”

 

“Sam texted me. So. You shot a kid's clown?"

 

Sam snorted. Emerged from the mountain of blankets he’d buried himself under. "Not one of our shining moments. The parents never saw it. The kid was screaming her head off, and Dean and I looked like your typical house robbing murderers."

 

"Except we didn't take anything," Dean pointed out.

 

"Or kill anyone," said Rachel.

 

"Not even the clown." Sam sighed.

 

"So what are we going to do?" asked Rachel.

 

Dean shrugged. "Go back to the carnival. Find the thing and kill it."

 

"Any clue as to who it is?"

 

"I think it's probably Mr. Cooper. He runs the carnival. And there were similar murders in the past around the carnival. Make sense, right?"

 

"No argument here. But maybe we should look for proof before we go up and stab him."

 

He snorted and combed his fingers through her hair. He really liked it when she wore her hair loose, especially since it was so long now. When they'd met, it'd been somewhere in the middle of her back; now it was almost to her waist. She rarely wore it loose, though. It was always back in braids. But right now, it was free and he couldn't stop playing with it.

 

"Yeah, don't worry. We'll check."

 

"What about the knife?"

 

"Dean thinks that the Amazing Papazian might have a brass knife. He's going to check while I check out Cooper's living space," Sam said.

 

Rachel frowned and asked, "Who?"

 

"The blind knife throwing guy."

 

"Ah." She sort of snuggled down onto his chest. "What do I do?"

 

"Stay in the car?" Dean suggested.

 

She just laughed.

 

"Stick with me?"

 

"That I can do." She tilted her head back.

 

He kissed her nose.

 

"So," Sam said. "What did you think of the Roadhouse?"

 

Rachel rolled to face Sam. "Fine, I guess. I got there when business was starting up. The crowd seems a bit unsavory, but they're all hunters, I guess."

 

"You saying hunters are unsavory?"

 

"Not the Winchesters. But others? I don't know. I can only imagine what hunting these things without having a greater purpose does to a person. You know? You guys always had the demon to keep you focused. Even if John wasn't the cuddliest of men, he was a decent man at heart. Took good care of you guys. I don't think he let the darkness get to him. But the rest? I'm just not sure. It's a hard life."

 

Dean cleared his throat. "What do you know about it?"

 

"Not much. Just theorizing. But, anyway. Ellen seemed nice. Strong. Oh! And that Ash guy? My brother sent him my search program, and he went through and fixed some of the coding for me."

 

"He knows your brother?" said Sam.

 

Rachel sighed. "Yes. Biblically."

 

There was a moment's silence. Then it clicked in Dean's head.

 

"Wait. This dude slept with your brother?"

 

"I really don't want to think about it," she said flatly. "Anyway. Jo's a talker, but she seems nice.”

 

"I barely met her."

 

"Her?"

 

Rachel nodded. "The daughter. Gorgeous. Fantastic hair. I mean, my God. It's like she stepped out of a shampoo commercial or something. Or a Cover Girl ad. It's amazing. I'd kill for hair like hers."

 

"I like your hair," Dean said. He nuzzled the top of her head.

 

"No, you don't understand. This like perfect. And she's beautiful. Petite. Blonde. Great figure. And Disney movie hair."

 

"You know," he said, not sure whether to be annoyed or aroused, "it almost sounds like you've got a crush on her."

 

She shook her head, sitting up. "No.” Then she frowned. “Maybe. I don’t know. She’s so beautiful. And she didn't leave my side for a moment. Even sat in the bathroom while I was in the shower."

 

Aroused. Yeah, definitely. Because, even if this Jo turned out to be a dog, the thought of another girl with his? Totally hot.

 

"Um," Sam said after a moment. "Wow. Okay."

 

"Her mom thinks it's because women don't generally come by. I guess there aren't many female hunters."

 

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of a bar where hunters hang out.” He sat up and scrubbed at his face. “A whole world of demon hunters. I mean, Dad never said a word about it."

 

"Maybe he was trying to keep you and Sam away from them."

 

"Why?" asked Sam.

 

"I don't know. Keep you safe."

 

He frowned. Keep them safe. Keep him safe. Sam. Because, yeah, the last thing Dad ever would have wanted to do was to introduce Sam to a bunch of people whose lives centered around killing the supernatural. Killing things like...

 

Not like Sam. Evil things. Sam wasn't evil.

 

But, somehow, Dean didn't think there was a lot of room for shades of grey in these guys' lives. These things hunted you back. Tried to kill you. Took over everything about you. So, when one of them had a vision in your bar, you don't stop to ask questions. You just go in for the kill.

 

So. After this job was over, no way was Dean letting Sam back near that bar.

 

He didn’t say that, though. Sure way to piss Sammy off was to let him know Dean was trying to keep him safe. So, he kissed Rachel on the head and said, “I’m going to take a shower.”

 

“And brush your teeth. I’ve got toothpaste my backpack.”

 

Oh, God, he’d been kissing her with morning-breath. And his mouth felt like death, except where it tingled from her. Great. Without another word, he disappeared into the bathroom.

 

He brushed his teeth three time. Just in case.

* * *

 

Once the shower had started, Sam turned and looked at Rachel. “How are you?”

She shrugged. “Like I told Dean, I’m fine. My head feels mostly better.” She bit her lip and looked away. “I didn’t sleeping away from him. It’s only been a few weeks, but…”

 

"No, I know how you feel. About a month after we moved in together, Jess went on this leadership retreat," said Sam. "It was just a weekend, but, God. I couldn't sleep that whole time. I just kept missing her. My leg would stray onto her side of the bed, and I'd wake up. I'd roll over to hold her, and she wouldn't be there." He bit his lip. "It was worse..." His throat closed.

 

She didn't say anything. Just got up from the bed and sat next to him. She took his hand in hers and squeezed.

 

To his horror, his eyes misted. Because it wasn't just Jess anymore. It was Dad, too. And Pastor Jim and Caleb and, God, even Meg. Meg, who he never even really got to know because she'd been possessed from that first moment.

 

"God," he said, and tears were falling now, and he couldn't stop them. He was just glad Dean wasn't here.

 

And glad they had Rachel. Because she had her arms around him and, thank God, turned off the stupid movie. And just held him, let him cry, didn't even say anything.

 

"Thanks," he said. He pulled away. Wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry."

 

To his surprise--although, he didn't know why--Rachel's eyes were wet and red, too. There were still tears rolling down her face.

 

He reached out and wiped one away with his thumb. "I'm sorry," he said again.

 

"It's fine." She sniffed. "God knows, you need it." She clenched her jaw. Clicked her teeth. Shook her head. "I'm so sorry. About John." Her voice trembled when she said his name.

 

"I just don't know what to do or how to feel, you know? Like... Shit. I was always so mad at him. And we were still fighting, right before he died. Like, I was trying to pick a fight, and he's the one who stopped it. That *never* happened, but it did and... Why? If he hadn't died, what would have happened? Would we have, like, stopped fighting?"

 

Rachel snorted. "No."

 

"How do you know?"

 

She wouldn't look at him. "He was happy Dean was awake. His family was okay. He didn't want to fight."

 

Sam snorted. "Dad was always ready for a fight."

 

"But he didn't want to."

 

He pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. "I feel like I failed him every day of my life and now... now he's gone. And I don't have a second chance."

 

"Is that why you took this job?"

 

He nodded. Swiped his nose with his sleeve. "I guess. Yeah. God, I hate clowns." He sniffed and wiped his nose again. "One time, I was seven. And Dad had been on a hunt. We were with Pastor Jim, and Pastor Jim didn't know that Dean stayed up this one night to watch this stupid fucking movie. ‘Killer Clowns from Outer Space.' And he told me to stay in bed, but I snuck in and watched it too. Scared the crap out of me. Anyway, Dad comes home, and there's this carnival in town. So he takes us. And I was fine. Until a clown jumped in front of me."

 

Rachel laughed. "What happened?"

 

"I screamed, I flipped out, and I punched the damn thing in the nose." He sniffed. Laughed. "I kind of think Dad was proud." He felt his face crumple. "I just felt, most of my life, that I couldn't make him proud, you know?"

 

"That's bullshit. You know it. At least I hope you know it." She wiped her eyes again. "Your dad loved you and Dean so much. He'd do anything for you guys."

 

"No. He'd do anything to get the..."

 

"He'd do it for you," Rachel said, voice hard. No arguments. "You and Dean."

 

Sam swallowed and looked away, unable to meet her eyes, so strong was her conviction. "You barely knew dad."

 

"I didn't know him long. But we..." She faltered, before deciding on, "Had a sort of understanding." Rachel reached out and touched Sam's face. "He love you. And he was proud of you. And he will continue be proud of you, no matter what you do."

 

He sighed. Laid back on the bed and closed his eyes. "I hope so. Because God if I know what to do anymore."

 

It was her turn to sigh. The bed shifted as she laid out next to him. "None of us do. And I'm not just talking about you, me, and Dean. I mean no one knows what they're doing." She clapped her arm on his thigh. "If you'd've stuck around a little longer at Stanford, you would have seen some major meltdowns as people freaked out about what they were going to do. I had a few meltdowns myself. Just... what the hell am I doing with my life? What am I going to do? I'm out of college with no plans. I don't want to do what I was supposed to do. But Dean doesn't want me, and..."

 

"Dean wants you. Were you just here? That was him wanting you." He rolled onto his side and looked at her. "Why haven't you two slept together yet?"

 

Rachel stared at the ceiling, but Sam had the feeling she wasn't seeing anything. And there were tears streaming from her eyes again. "It's too dangerous," she whispered.

 

And then Dean came in, and Sam was left to mull that over.

 

* * *

 

It was rare that their lives had downtime while on a hunt. It was always go hunt, go research, go back out, run away, run towards... basically, total and complete stress every minute. It wasn't easy and you had to learn to take every second of time you weren't running around for relaxation.

 

Right now they had some. Lunch had been demolished and thrown away. Clothes were being changed for more hunt-appropriate ones. Plans were being finalized, changed (when Sam pointed out he had the more dangerous job and therefore he should have the extra person as backup) and finalized again.

 

Sam was in the bathroom, primping or some shit. Dean and Rachel were mostly ready, although Rachel was doing her hair and had no shoes. The lack of shoes were due to Dean having her feet in his lap, massaging them. He couldn't quite say why he was doing it--it bordered a little too close to being romantic and mushy--but, on the other hand, he was trying to keep his hands off any other part, so the feet were a compromise.

 

He mostly still wasn't ready for sex. His body felt dead. Dirty. Tainted. But when she’d come in, and he’d had her in his arms, mouth on his… Well. It was really easy to forget being tainted and just want to take her into his arms and show her what he was feeling.

 

But he couldn't. Hence the foot massage.

 

"So," Dean said, thumbs pressing into the bottom of Rachel's feet, "how's your head?"

 

She shrugged. Her fingers were busily flying, weaving her hair into a long braid. Dean had tried to stop her, but she'd logically pointed out that if they ran into trouble, she'd need to be able to move freely. No hair in her face. No hair to grab. Safe.

 

"It's fine. Since I got here, it’s faded away. Finally."

 

"Good night's sleep, huh?"

 

"Surprisingly so." She wrapped a rubber band around the end of the braid. "Having Sam back took a lot off my mind."

 

"Yeah, mine too." He wiggled one of her toes. "Glad you're feeling better. I was starting to be afraid that, I don't know. The headaches were caused by the demon or something."

 

Rachel swallowed and looked down. "The nightmares might be," she said softly. She reached into the box of bobby pins next to her. Wrapped her braid around her head and pinned it in place. "Or they might just be nightmares."

 

"You ever see the demon?"

 

Her eyes were lowered. She chewed on her lip before answering. "Just in my dreams," she finally said.

 

"Not even when dad made whatever kind of deal he musta made with it? You didn't see him then?"

 

Rachel's eyes snapped up to him. Wide. Face pale.

 

"It's just, sometimes, when you're having nightmares, you say my dad's name. And I know he wasn't around very long for you to get to know him. I also know that stressful situations can form bonds real fast. And you have a tendency to stick your nose into things. So..."

 

"What makes you think your dad made a deal?

 

"Because we're not stupid," Sam said from the doorway to his room. He came inside and pulled a chair to the bed. Dropped into it. "Dad was fine, Dean wasn't. Suddenly Dean's awake, only Dad is dead and the Colt is gone." He cocked an eyebrow. "I went to Stanford you know."

 

"Right." Rachel licked her lips. Took her feet from Dean's lap and finished securing her hair. "No, I didn't see it. Not really."

 

"What did they say?"

 

She shrugged. "'bout what you think. Traded the Colt and himself for Dean. He wouldn't listen to me when I told him not to."

 

There was more. Dean could tell. Her face was too white. Her hands shook as she closed the box. And she wouldn't look at him.

 

"Did Dad force you along with him?" asked Sam.

 

"No. The demon used me as protection. Insurance. That’s all.” She tightened her jaw, a stubborn look on her face.

 

She wasn’t going to answer any more questions.

 

Fine. Dean didn't care anyway. She'd just confirmed what he'd already known, only with the added information that she'd been in on it somehow. Or there. Whatever. Rachel had been in danger, and what if Dad had offered her life for Dean's? Would she have gone along with it? Would she have had a choice?

 

Everything sucked right now. He hated being angry at Dad. He hated missing Dad. He hated feeling like he was dead inside, and he hated that the only thing that made him feel the slightest bit normal was the one thing he should never allow himself to have.

 

It wasn't fair.

 

After a few moments of silence, Rachel crawled to the foot of the bed and grabbed her socks. "I really wish we could go in tonight with a weapon," she said. "If I'm backing up Sam while he pokes around Cooper's trailer, it'd be nice to have something to back him up with."

 

He looked at her, mind still on the demon and his father. Although, he was distracted because he'd just realized that she looked sorta like Princess Leia with her hair up like that. And she was wearing a green shirt, like Leia had in Return of the Jedi. Which led to the distracting thought of what Rachel would look like if she wore another outfit from that movie.

 

And with that, his mind clicked on her request for a weapon (because if it didn't, he'd be forced to deal with a hardon with his brother in the room), so he said, "If we had a knife, we wouldn't have to split up. And you wouldn't be left with the dubious honor of back-up."

 

"Why do I hear quotation marks around the word back-up?"

 

Sam sat on the bed next to Rachel and hooked his arm around her neck. "I trust you," he said, pulling her against him. "Just make sure you warn me if you see Cooper. I don't want to become demon chow."

 

"Cross my heart. Question is, what are you going to do against it?"

 

He sighed and shrugged. "That, we'll deal with later."

 

Rachel sighed and pulled away from Sam. Picked up her shoes and slipped them on. "I wish we had some brass bullets," she said as she tied them. "They might not work as well as a knife, but they might slow it down."

 

Dean looked at her. He felt suddenly... slow. Stupid. He couldn't believe he hadn't though of it before. "I have some," he said.

 

"What?"

 

"Brass bullets. I don't usually use them. I've got them sewed into my backpack. For emergencies." He got off the bed and grabbed his backpack. "I'll load them, let Rach carry the gun. That way, on the off chance Cooper's not the demon, he won't catch you with a gun and think you're trying to rob him."

 

"So what will he think?" Sam asked.

 

Dean suppressed a smirk. "Well, a man's got his needs, Sammy."

 

"Fuck you."

 

"No thanks," he muttered, ripping open the patch he'd sewn over the bullets. "Looks like I only have four." Dean looked up at Rachel. "You okay with this?

 

She nodded. "Yeah, of course. Although, are you sure you don't want it?"

 

He shook his head. "You're doing back-up. You need to have something besides a cell phone to back him up with. Anything happens, he attacks? You shoot." He unzipped the weapons' duffel and pulled out a gun. After he loaded it, he handed it to Rachel. "Don't miss."

 

Rachel took it. Her face was pale, but determined. "I won't."

 

* * *

 

"So," Sam said as he and Rachel walked the deserted path to Cooper's trailer. "Were you ever going to tell us that you were there?"

 

Rachel's stomach twisted. "No," she said as evenly as she could. She refused to feel guilty about this. Especially when Sam had run away to supposedly protect her and Dean. Keeping a secret to do the same was hardly worse.

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because I didn't think you needed to know. My being there didn't change anything. Besides. I guess I was hoping you wouldn't realize what John had done."

 

"We're not..."

 

"I know you're not stupid, Sam," she interrupted softly. "It's just that sometimes, you've got to leave things alone. This is one of them. Your dad made a choice, and what's done is done."

 

He exhaled and ran his hand over his head. "I know. I still feel guilty, though." He stopped outside Cooper's trailer.

 

"Why?"

 

"Because I was fighting with him. Angry that he wasn't doing anything to help Dean." He rubbed the back of his neck. "And he did. He was. I just didn't have faith."

 

"It's hard to have faith when you've been disappointed before," said Rachel "And he was being secretive. Purposefully, but still. How were you to know?"

 

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. I just wish we hadn't be fighting. And now I just... I want to thank him. As much as I miss him, I'd miss Dean even more."

 

Rachel put his hand on his arm. "I know. And so did he." She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "No, go in there and check out the bed. Find out if this is our guy."

 

Sam nodded. Kissed her back, then moved a few steps away. "You know you look like Princess Leia with your hair like that?"

 

She rolled her eyes. "Just get inside, Luke." She pulled her cell phone from its clip and dialed his number once he was inside.

 

"It's clear," he said on answering. "Cooper's not here. And the door to his room is open."

 

"Good." Rachel pulled the gun from where she'd stuffed it down the back of her jeans. "Coast is clear out here."

 

"So far so good."

 

Sound of footsteps. Breathing. Sam clearing his throat, then...

 

"What the hell are you doing?"

 

Rachel almost dropped the phone. Worse, she almost squeezed off a round and she hadn't even realized her finger was on the trigger. Stupid. "Sam?"

 

She heard him babbling something. Then Cooper shouting.

 

"I'm coming, Sam," she said. She snapped the phone shut. Charged up the steps to Cooper's trailer. Ran smack into Sam as he flew out.

 

His hands were on her shoulders right away. Turning her. Propelling her. "Go. Run."

 

"But what about the..."

 

"He's not it. *Run*."

 

Right.

 

Rachel shoved the gun down the back of her jeans under the waistband and allowed Sam to propel her down the steps. Stumbled, but he grabbed her shirt and prevented her from doing a face dive.

 

"Should I call Dean?" she asked, once her feet were back under her. "Warn him?"

 

"No, it's fine. I don't know if he's after us, but he definitely thinks I'm some kind of perv. Christ." Sam rubbed his face as he ran. His hand was on Rachel's back. "So we're back to square one. Perfect. Where the hell is this demon?"

 

They pounded through the empty carnival. Dust rose with their every step.

 

Just ahead of them, Dean burst out of a trailer.

 

"Dean!" Rachel shouted.

 

Dean was bleeding. The sleeve of his jacket was sliced open, hand over it. Blood still seeped from between his fingers. When Rachel called out, his head snapped over to them. He leapt down the steps and in front of them. Grabbed her by the wrist. "It's him. Papazian. He disappeared on me. Started throwing knives."

 

"Where is he now?" Rachel asked.

 

"I don't..."

 

"Look out!" Sam threw himself at Dean. His body knocked into Rachel heavily, pushing her into Dean, and all three down.

 

As she fell, something sharp grazed her arm. Rachel bit her lower lip at the pain. The wind was knocked forcefully from her when she and Dean hit the ground. She grunted.

 

"Fuck," he groaned. He groaned louder when Sam fell on Rachel, doubling the weight.

 

"Ow," Rachel said. She glanced at her arm and the knife lying on the ground a few feet away.

 

"Smooth move," remarked Dean. "Thanks a lot."

 

Sam pushed himself off the pile. He was looking around warily. "I saw the knife. It's here."

 

"That's right," a voice said. "I am here. And look at the tasty meal waiting for me."

 

Rachel made a startled sound as Sam thrust his hand down the back of her pants. It wrapped around the handle of the gun. Tugged. Before it was clear, he shouted in pain and fell off her.

 

Dean pushed Rachel away. "Sam!"

 

Rachel didn't think. Didn't pause to look and see what had happened to Sam. Just pulled the gun from her jeans and lifted her head.

 

The Rakshasa was standing just a few feet away. There was a knife in his hand. Grin on his face.

 

He looked hungry.

 

His attention was on the boys. More meat, maybe, although she knew it wouldn't hesitate to eat her, too. But she wasn't the one who'd shot it last night. She wasn't the one he was going to play with.

 

She didn't play, anyway.

 

"Listen," Dean started. He pushed himself to his feet, slowly. "You don't want to eat us. We're bad meat. Stringy. Tough. You don't want that."

 

"Oh. I really think I do." He raised his arm, ready to throw another knife.

 

Rachel fired. Once. Twice. Again.

 

It screamed.

 

She fired again.

 

It kept screaming

 

Dean grabbed the gun. Fired.

 

It screamed once more than disappeared in a puff of smoke.

 

"Jesus," Dean swore, lowering the gun. He turned. "Good girl."

 

Rachel smiled at him shakily. "Thanks." She pushed herself up. Wiped her face. "You okay?"

 

He nodded. Glanced down at his bleeding arm. "It's fine," he said. "Sammy?"

 

"I'm okay." He sat up. There was a knife in his shoulder. "Well, maybe not so okay. Fuck."

 

Rachel put the gun back in her waistband and crawled over to him. "That's deep. Lets get you back to the car so we can bandage it."

 

"Can you sew?" Dean asked.

 

"You're kidding."

 

He wasn't. "I can do it, but you gotta hold his arm down so he doesn’t screw it up. Unless you’d rather.”

 

"We can take him to a hospital, Dean."

 

"Out here? Do you know where the nearest hospital is? Cause I sure don't."

 

"I don't want to sew him up!"

 

Dean shrugged, face impassive. "Then I'll do it. You can help or not, but if you want to stay, you gotta get used to this.”

 

Rachel felt a sick, hard knot settle in the pit of her stomach. "This is what you do, isn't it? Patch each other up on the road, only going to the hospital when..." She stopped, not wanting to say dying.

 

"Guys?" Sam said, sounding sick himself.

 

She let out a sigh. "Fine. Just... let's go before he bleeds out?"

 

They settled on either side of Sam and headed back to the car. Sam kept his hand on the knife, still buried in his arm. Blood poured out around it, but it was better than if he pulled it out right now.

 

"We’re going to need better light," Rachel said once they were back in the car. She pushed Sam into the backseat while Dean dug the first aid kit from his duffel.

 

"Shine a flashlight," Dean said.

 

She nodded.

 

"I'll be fine," Sam said. He was breathing heavily, sweat standing out on his face.

 

Rachel looked at him anxiously. "Are you sure?"

 

He gave her a smile. "Trust me. I'm used to this."

 

She nodded, not feeing reassured.

 

“Okay, Rach,” Dean said as he threaded the needle. “You get the knife out and apply pressure. I just need to sterilize this and I’m good.”

 

She nodded. Grabbed a wad of gauze and the bottle of alcohol. After she wet the gauze, she turned to Sam. “Um… This’ll hurt?”

 

He smile weakly. “I’m fine.”

 

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Okay.” Taking hold of the knife, she pulled it out.

 

Dean was there a second later. “Okay, move. Just, hold his arm.”

 

Rachel slid her hands down to Sam’s wrist.

 

The first touch of the needle had Sam trying to yank his arm, but Rachel held fast. She watched as the needle dug into Sam’s flesh, through it, trailing thick black string after it. Watched as Dean tried to keep it clean, kept asking her to wipe blood away. Her hands became more and more bloodstained. The air was thick with the smell.

 

The flashlight wavered.

 

“Rach.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

It took a little over ten minutes. She kept having to wipe her hands off on her jeans. A couple of times she forgot herself and wiped her face, and she knew she had blood on it now. Dangerous, but she wasn't thinking straight. Besides. She didn't think Sam had any diseases.

 

“Can you cut the string?” Dean asked after the last stitch was placed.

 

Rachel picked up the scissors. Snipped close to Sam’s arm. “Okay. It’s over.”

 

“Yeah. See, no problem,” Dean smiled at her. “Soon, you’ll be stitching us up like… Rach? Rachel!”

 

She hit the ground, the world telescoping in on her. Then, it faded away.

 

* * *

 

"I still can't believe I fainted," Rachel said. She tossed her duffel on the bed and collapsed beside it.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed the door closed behind him. "Jesus, it happened two days ago. Get over it."

 

"A day and a half," Rachel corrected, not opening her eyes. "And I've never fainted before in my life. It's humiliating."

 

"At least you managed to wait until after the thing was dead and Sam was patched up. It's not like you inconvenienced us."

 

"Good thing. I'd hate to be an inconvenience." She sighed. "I've never fainted."

 

Dean groaned. Belly flopped on top of her. "Shut up about it all ready!" he said. He combed his fingers through her hair and bit her lower lip. "Don't you ever talk about anything else?"

 

Her eyes opened. "So, Jo sure seemed to like you."

 

Definitely not something he wanted to talk about. Without replying, he pushed off her. His bag was on the floor. Since they were stuck at Bobby's again until the car was fixed, he might as well unpack. They were as close to settled as they probably ever would be.

 

"She was totally hitting on you," Rachel said. She sat up. Leaned against the wall. "I didn't like that."

 

"Yeah, well. I wasn't too thrilled."

 

"Liar."

 

He turned from the dresser to look at her. "You serious?"

 

She shrugged. "I just don't see why she didn't hit on Sam. I mean, he's got that whole adorable thing going for him. And he's super smart. Who wouldn't want that?"

 

Dean wasn't often jealous of his brother. And never over women since they weren't usually attracted to the same types. Plus, when Sam had been seventeen and Dean was twenty-one, it hadn't really been an issue. Sammy had been interested in girls his age, and Dean hadn't wanted to get arrested for statutory rape.

 

Now, though? Now it could be an issue. Because it had occurred to him many, many times that Rachel was a super smart college girl with a lot more in common with Sam than himself. And then there'd been that whole thing back at the hospital, where Sam kept having dreams about her. Maybe it hadn't just been the demon. Maybe part of it had been Sam.

 

And maybe Dean should just step aside and let the two people who belonged together be together.

 

"Maybe she just has good taste," he finally said, taking refuge in a joke, not wanting to get into it.

 

Rachel threw a pillow at him.

 

He batted it away easily.

 

"I just mean, you're involved with someone. And she hit on you."

 

"She hit on you, too," he pointed out. He threw the last of his clothes in the drawer and slammed it shut. "You don't hear me complaining."

 

"That's because you're a perv." She smiled, so at least she wasn't bitchy anymore.

 

Still. He couldn't help but say, "It's not like she knew we were involved. I mean, it's not like you spent any time around me when we got back to the Roadhouse. You were too busy with that Ash dude. And it's not like we've got our names tattooed on each other or even, hey, got something like a fucking wedding ring so people know!" He grabbed her left hand and shoved it in her face. "Where's your ring?"

 

Rachel blinked. Her face went bone white, then flush. She averted her eyes. "I took it off," she mumbled.

 

"Why?"

 

Her lower lip trembled, but Dean was too pissed to feel the slightest bit sorry. He couldn't even remember getting angry. Just, one minute he was fine and the next he... he just wasn't.

 

Every second he'd been around her since the ring had disappeared, he'd wanted to throttle her. Which was rather disturbing.

 

"I just..." There were tears in her eyes. She yanked her hand away and got off the bed. "It's not like it means anything."

 

"What?"

 

"Dean..."

 

"It's a wedding ring, Rachel. Of course it means something."

 

She whirled to face him. "We never got married! It was a stupid trick Sam tried to pull on you. The only reason we have them was to make everyone think..."

 

He went to her. Grabbed her by the wrists. Had her pinned to the wall before he thought about it. "Just because we never had a ceremony doesn't mean it's not real."

 

Rachel's eyes closed. A tear fell from her eyes and down her cheek. "Dean. Listen, I..."

 

Suddenly, he didn't want to hear it. Because he knew that tone of voice. That was the break-up tone. The good-bye tone.

 

Dean was tired of good-bye.

 

"I'm going to work on the car," he said.

 

"Dean..."

 

He ignored her. Went to the door.

 

It wouldn't open.

 

"What the hell?" He twisted the knob and tried again.

 

It didn't budge.

 

"What's wrong?" Rachel crossed over to him. "Let me try."

 

"Right," he snorted. "Like you can get it." He yanked the knob while twisting it. "Dammit!"

 

She shoved him. "Move!" She jiggled the knob. Kicked the door. Hung her weight from it.

 

"Wow, look at that," he deadpanned. "You really showed that door."

 

Rachel gave him a look, then turned back to the door. "Sam!" she shouted. Pounded her palm against the door. Kicked it. "Samuel Adrian Winchester, you get your ass over here right now and open the fucking door!"

 

"What?" She'd flipped.

 

"The door isn't locked, Dean. There's a deadbolt on the other side or something. Sam!"

 

What she said made sense. There was no lock on the door, and unless it was some demon...

 

He hit the door with the side of his fist. "Sam!"

 

"Jesus, I go to the bathroom for a minute," Sam said from the other side. "Stop yelling."

 

"Then open the door," Dean said. He twisted the knob again.

 

"Yeah, not so much," he replied.

 

"What?" Rachel all but shrieked.

 

"Calm down. I'm not saying you're in there forever or anything. But you two need to talk, and I thought this was the best way to do it."

 

He and Rachel exchanged looks.

 

"We don't need to talk," said Rachel. "We're fine. Let us out."

 

"Bull. The two of you are long overdue."

 

"Sam," Dean said, as voice low and menacing as he could make it.

 

"Here's the thing," Sam said, like he hadn't heard. "You two are totally stupid in love with each other. Dean, when you were having your whole out of body experience? The two of you practically had sex in your room over a game bored."

 

"Sam!" This time it was a screech.

 

"So I find it funny that the two of you haven't had sex yet."

 

Rachel moaned. Turned around and slid to the floor, hiding her face.

 

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "Sam, I don't think this is any of your business. This isn't funny."

 

"It's not meant to be funny. I want the two of you to sit down and..."

 

"What, fuck?" Dean interrupted. "You're my pimp now?"

 

"No! Look, if the two of you sit down and talk and decide that you don't want sex in your relationship, fine. I don't think it's plausible, but fine. At least you'll have talked. But you need to talk. Because, Rachel? Dean says he understands why you don't want to sleep with him. That it's all your decision, and he's not going to push. He gets it."

 

Rachel looked up at Dean.

 

"And Dean? Rachel says it's too dangerous for you guys to sleep together. I don't know what that means."

 

Dean frowned at Rachel.

 

There was silence.

 

"Okay," Sam said after a moment. "I take it by your silence that you're waiting for me to leave. So, I'm going to go meet Bobby at the bar, and we'll be back later tonight." Another silence. "Okay. Bye."

 

Dean heard footsteps down the hall. The front door opened. Closed.

 

"You know," Rachel said. "If the house catches on fire, we're so screwed. There are bars on the window."

 

"Why's it too dangerous to sleep with me?"

 

"What exactly do you understand?"

 

He held her eyes for a long moment. She was sitting on the floor, one hand on her forehead, looking up at her. Her eyes and nose were red, face sort of blotchy.

 

She was beautiful.

 

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. Went to the bed and dropped down. "I get it. I was being chased by a reaper, which means I was dead. Should be dead. Now I'm alive. And all those problems I had are gone."

 

"It's a miracle."

 

He gave her a look.

 

"Okay, so not a miracle." She pushed herself to her feet and walked to the bed. "You don't here me complaining, do you?" Now in front of him, Rachel softly traced his face. "I, personally, thank any god there might be that you came back. I don't care if your father made a deal or if you just got better on your own. I'm just glad your here."

 

Dean closed his eyes. Took her by the wrists again, loosely this time. "I don't know if I am," he said hoarsely.

 

"Dean."

 

"I miss my dad. He shouldn't have done it."

 

"Maybe not. But wanted... he loved you too much to see you go."

 

Dean snorted. Shook his head. "It has nothing to do with me."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I don't want to talk about it." He let her go. "I'm dirty, Rachel. I get it. Makes perfect sense. You don't want to touch me, don't want to be with me, because you know the demon was inside me. The demon did something to me. And now I'm tainted."

 

Rachel inhaled sharply. Jaw trembled. "That... that really how you feel?" she asked, voice hoarse. "Dirty?"

 

He closed his eyes. Couldn't look at her anymore. Didn't want to.

 

He nodded.

 

"Oh, Dean," she breathed.

 

He heard her step away. A zipper.

 

Then the bed dipped. Rachel took his hand and pressed something into it.

 

Dean opened his eyes and looked down.

 

Her ring.

 

"Rach..."

 

"Dean."

 

He sighed. Took her left hand. Looked right into her eyes. Slipped her ring back on. "It's just a ring," he said.

 

She shook her head. "No," she said. She climbed onto his lap. “No, it’s not just a ring.” She started breathing faster, hands trembling as she reached for the hem of her shirt. Pulled it over her head. “It’s everything.”

 

“Rach,” he breathed, feeling helpless. He leaned into her, finding her mouth. His hands slid up her back, caressing. Kissed her, over and over again until they were both dizzy with it, panting against each other.

He flipped her over, stretching her onto the bed. Undid her bra and tossed it aside before sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head.

 

Her hands were everywhere, caressing, stroking. She kissed him, down his neck, over his collarbone.

 

Dean breathed her in. Nuzzled behind her ear. Learned the curve of her neck, the shape of her breasts. Sought out sensitive areas that had her gasping, clutching him. Watched her come undone under his fingers and tongue, tears spilling over her cheeks as she shook under him.

 

He kissed them away Soothed her down from her orgasm, chasing tears and sweat over her face, down her neck. Time seemed to melt away as they explored each other, learning the body they’d spent weeks sleeping next to, discovering themselves one another’s embrace.

 

By the time he finally grabbed a condom and rolled it on, Dean was taut and aching with the need to come. Rachel’s face was flushed, her eyes shining as she wrapped her legs around him. Drew him to her. Inside her. They moved together, as one being, and, for one moment, everything was simple....

 

Right.

 

* * *

 

Rachel's stomach growled loudly.

 

"Hungry?" Dean asked. He opened his eyes and rolled onto his side. One hand reached out and stroked down her torso, caressing her stomach.

 

"A little," she admitted. "We've been in here for, what? Four hours now? I can't imagine how many calories we've burned." She rolled over to face Dean. "Not that I'm complaining by any stretch of the imagination." Still feeling a bit shy, she smiled at him.

 

He smiled back. Ran his thumb down her cheek, over what Rachel knew to be a tearstain. "You telling me that you don't know how many calories the average person burns during sex?"

 

"It's different for everyone," she said, cheeks flushing. "Depends on height, weight, activity level, how vigorous the sex was."

 

Dean glanced at the wall where the headboard had punched a hole in the cheap plaster. "I'm going for pretty damn vigorous."

 

She blushed harder. "And since I don't pay that much attention to calories and weight loss anyway, I can honestly say, no, I don't know how many calories an average person burns during sex. I just know we've been in here four hours, had full penetrative intercourse three times, oral sex twice, and you've fingered me to orgasm at least three more times, so..."

 

"God, baby, I love it when you talk dirty," Dean growled. He rolled on top of her, capturing her mouth with his.

 

Rachel opened her mouth, kissing him back. It was so strange. So weird how much things changed, even when she never thought they would. One day ago, lying naked in bed with Dean would have been nerve-wracking. Now, it just felt natural. She didn’t know how she’d ever lived without it.

 

Her stomach growled again. His responded.

 

"Sam needs to come home, soon," Dean said, breaking the kiss. "I'm starving, too."

 

Rachel pulled him down to her. Kissed him. "So. Do we thank him when he comes back, or kill him?"

 

Dean shook his head. "I was thinking we just not say anything. Lull him into a false sense of security, then, when he least expects it, get him back."

 

"Sounds good. How?"

 

"It'll come to us." He kissed her forehead. "I'm keeping you, by the way."

 

"Oh, really?"

 

"Yeah." He rolled off her. His fingers threaded into her hair and combed through the sweat-damp locks.

 

"So, does this mean you'll talk to me about things? Like feeling that you're dirty or about your father."

 

Dean closed his eyes. "I'm not good with the whole talking thing. About feelings and stuff."

 

"I know. And, believe me, I don't expect, like, heartfelt declarations or anything. Christ, Dean, the only time you've told me you love me, you having an out of body experience. But I know you do."

 

He lifted his head and opened his eyes. "I do."

 

"I know." She smiled. Traced his lips with her fingers. "And I know that you hate talking about your feelings. But if I'm going to be your wife, and you're planning on keeping me, then use me."

 

Dean smirked. "Oh, I'll use you baby."

 

"Dean."

 

He leaned over and kissed her neck. "Speaking of, do you want make it official?"

 

"What?"

 

"Get married for real. Do the whole preacher or justice of the peace or whatever. Wedding dress, family. The whole nine yards thing."

 

Okay, she hadn't been expecting that. She was still surprised at how important the wedding rings had been to him in the first place. "I don't know," she said cautiously. "Do you?"

 

He shrugged. "Might not be so bad. But I know it's, like, supposed to be really important to girls. And I know that none of this is what you planned for you life."

 

"You're feeling guilty?" Then she winced. Duh, he was feeling guilty. Lately, he was feeling nothing but guilty. "Sorry," she said. "The sex. It made my brain mush."

 

Dean smirked, but there was still hurt in his eyes.

 

Rachel sighed and climbed onto Dean. "I read somewhere that everyone gets the life they want. If this wasn't the life I wanted, I wouldn't be here."

 

He looked somewhat mollified.

 

"As for a wedding, why we thing about it? Not rush into anything."

 

"Yeah." He frowned, averted his eyes. "Yeah, you're probably right."

 

"Because my parents will want to pay for it. My mom will want to go dress shopping, and I wouldn't mind some presents." She kissed him.

 

Dean looked back to her. "That sounds reasonable. But, uh. How big would this thing be? Because, I uh..."

 

"Not big. I wouldn't want a big wedding. In fact, I will beg for the extended family not to come."

 

He looked wistful for a moment. "Must be nice, though. Having an extended family."

 

"It can be both a burden and a blessing." She traced his lips. "We can have them, if you want."

 

"We'll see what happens. Truth is? I just want to see you in a wedding dress. And white lacy underwear and all that." He leered at her.

 

She wanted to suggest she just get a wedding dress--and the white lacy underwear--but she knew him better than that. Sex wasn't just what he was after. He wanted what his father had fought twenty odd years for: a woman worth giving up everything for.

 

Rachel could only hope that she could live up to the challenge.

 

There was a sound outside of gravel being crunched by tires. Lights flashes through the thin curtains, then died.

 

"Sam's home," Dean said.

 

"We should have showered. And dressed. Sam's gonna unlock the door and find us all naked and smelly."

 

"Serves him right."

 

The door opened. "Look guys," Sam said, sticking his head in. His eyes widened, then looked away. A deep blush crept over his cheeks. "Okay, good. You talked. I'll, uh.... I'll just leave this here." He placed a bag of food inside the door. "Sorry."

 

"Serves you right," Dean said.

 

"I know." He closed the door.

 

"Food." Rachel bounced out of bed and immediately regretted it. "Oh, crap. I'm sore."

 

"What'd you expect?" Dean, gentleman that he was, had already reached the food. He grabbed a handful of fries and stuffed them into his mouth. "We've been having sex." He passed her a burger.

 

"First time. Didn't think about that." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ears and added softly, "Didn't think about a lot of things."

 

"We're cool, though. Right? I mean..." Dean trailed off and looked at her, worry on his face.

 

Rachel smiled at him, trying for reassuring. It was hard, though; for some reason, she wanted to cry again. "Yeah. Yeah, we're cool. And we're totally doing it again. Just... tomorrow or something." She took a bite of her burger, then set it down. "I'm going to wash up. I'll be back in a few."

 

Dean came over. Took her around the waist. Practically bent her over backwards as he kissed her. "I'm glad..." He stopped. Frowned. Then shrugged and said, "I'm glad for you."

 

"Yeah." She kissed him softly and whispered, "I'm glad for you, too." She kissed him again, then untangled herself and went into the bathroom.

 

So. It was done. She'd committed herself. Not that she hadn't before, because she'd been so stupid in love with Dean before, there'd been no way she could ever leave him. But now it was different.

 

Rachel stood in front of the sink, looking at her reflection. She knew that, really, she wasn't any different than before. Just, not a virgin and, as Dean put it, fairly proficient at giving blow jobs. At least proficient enough for him. But, she felt different. More comfortable in her own body. It wasn't quite the mystery it was before.

 

Plus, Dean had seen her at her worst. Crying like a baby, red faced and sweaty, making weird sounds, babbling in tongues (French and Latin, for reasons she couldn't even begin to fathom). There wasn't much worse she could do that was as embarrassing as any of that.

 

At least she hoped.

 

And, as for the potential threat of a demon baby... Well. She'd just have to keep being really careful. Birth control was a wonderful thing, especially when you used a lot of it.

 

For a moment, she toyed with the idea of telling Dean what the demon had threatened. Then she rejected it. Now wasn't the time. He was going through too much, and she didn't want to add to that. She was supposed to take care of him. Ease his burdens. Not add to them.

 

"All right," she said to her reflection. "So I won't tell him. But it's fine. He doesn't need to know, anyway. And I'm not letting some third rate, pathetic excuse for a demon try to scare me into hiding." With those words, she bent over the sink. Turned the water on and splashed it on her face.

 

When she rose, her reflection was already there, yellow eyed and smirking.

 

"Shit," she said.

 

The demon smirked deeper. "Game on, Princess." It blew her a kiss then disappeared, leaving Rachel staring at her reflection alone.

 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Due to a fairly large plot hole that resulted upon first posting (I thing knew the Roadhouse was in Nebraska and the majority of "Everyone Loves a Clown" was in Wisconsin, but that information bypassed my brain) I moved the carnival from Wisconsin to Lincoln, Nebraska. I also rewrote a bunch of this.


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